“I’m so awfully sorry!” she cried.
“Why? You mean—for God’s sake, tell me! You mean she has changed her mind?”
“I can’t tell you—not now.”
“You can’t leave it at that,” said he. He had taken her outstretched hand, and he held it tight. “I ought to know what has happened. I can’t believe that Caroline would let me down like that. She—she’s not that sort of girl. Something’s gone wrong. She wouldn’t leave me waiting and waiting there for her at Wyngate.”
“Wyngate!” cried Lexy. “But that was—”
She stopped abruptly. Caroline’s letter had been postmarked “Wyngate.” She had gone there to meet—some one. She had married—some one.
“I can’t understand,” Lexy went on. “It’s terrible! I can’t tell you now; but I’ll meet you here this afternoon, after lunch—about two o’clock—and I’ll tell you then.”
She turned away, then, in haste to get back to Mrs. Enderby, but he stopped her.
“Remember!” he said sternly. “I’ve trusted you. If Caroline hasn’t told her people about me, you mustn’t mention my name. I gave her my word that I would let her do the telling. I didn’t want it that way, but I promised her, and you’ve got to do the same. If she hasn’t told about me, you’re not to.”
“Oh, Lord!” cried poor Lexy. “Well, all right, I won’t! Now, for goodness’ sake, go away, and let me alone—to do the best I can!”