Impossible to answer that question with even the wildest surmise.
“I’ll have to wait,” Lexy went on. “I’ll have to find out more from Mr. Houseman. Perhaps they misunderstood each other. It’s no use trying to guess. I’ll have to wait till I see him.”
She recalled his honest, sunburned face with great good will. He was her ally. He was young, like herself, not old and cautious and deliberate. She liked him. She trusted him. In her loneliness and anxiety, he seemed a friend.
Annie opened the door with her customary air of disapproval.
“Yes, miss,” she answered. “Mrs. Enderby came home in the car half an hour ago. Dinner ’ll be served in ten minutes. Here’s a letter for you. A young man left it about twenty minutes ago.”
“If I’d taken a taxi from Grand Central, I’d have seen him!” was Lexy’s first thought.
Even a letter was something, however, and she ran upstairs with it, very much pleased. Of course, it was from Mr. Houseman. She locked the door, and, standing against it, looked at the envelope. It was addressed to “Miss Lexy” in a good clear hand. That made her smile, remembering her first indignation that morning.
The letter ran thus:
Dear Miss Lexy:
Please excuse me for addressing you like this, but I don’t know your other name. I forgot to ask you.