“Oh, I’ve got to get back this afternoon! I’ve got to see some one! It’s important—terribly important!”
Mrs. Enderby smiled faintly.
“The chauffeur must see you descend at Miss Craigie’s house,” she said. “Once we are there, I have a hat and coat of your own in the trunk. I shall explain what is necessary to Miss Craigie, who is very discreet, very devoted. You can change then, but you must go home quietly by train; and I think there are not many trains.”
Lexy had a vision of the young man waiting and waiting for her in the park that afternoon—the young man who had trusted her, who was waiting in such miserable anxiety for some news of Caroline.
“Mrs. Enderby,” she protested, “I can’t come with you. I’ve got to get back this afternoon.”
“No,” said Mrs. Enderby.
Lexy made a creditable effort to master her anger and distress.
“It’s important—to you,” she said. “I have to see some one about Caroline—some one who can tell you something.”
This time Mrs. Enderby made no answer at all. There she sat, stout, majestic, absolutely impervious, looking out of the window as if Lexy did not exist. What was to be done? She couldn’t communicate with the chauffeur except by leaning across Mrs. Enderby, and a struggle with that lady was out of the question.
“But I’m not going on!” she thought.