“No, thank you,” said Lexy. “I’d rather go now. I dare say I can find something to eat in the village.”
She was not in the least angry now, or hurt; only she wanted to get away, by herself, to think this out.
“Good-by?” repeated Mrs. Enderby, with a smile. “You think, then, never to see me again?”
“No,” said Lexy. “I mean to see you again—when I have something to tell you; but just now I want to go back and pack up my things.”
“And leave my house?”
“Yes.”
They were both silent for a moment. Then, to Lexy’s amazement, Mrs. Enderby laid a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder.
“My child,” she said, “you think I am a very hard woman. Perhaps it is so; but, like you, I do what seems to me the right. Certainly it is better now that you should leave us; but not like this. You must have your lunch here, then you must return to the house and sleep there, all in the usual way. To-morrow you shall go.” She paused a moment. “You shall go, if you are still determined that you will not keep faith with me.”
It was not a very difficult matter to touch Lexy’s heart. Whatever resentment she may have felt against Mrs. Enderby vanished now, lost in a sincere pity and respect; but she was firm in her purpose.
“I’ve got to tell one person,” she said. “If I do, I shall be able to tell you something you ought to know. I wish you could trust me! I wish you could believe that all I’m thinking of is—Caroline!”