A fresh example of Mrs. Enderby’s remarkable strength of mind awaited them. Mr. Enderby was already seated at the table in the dining room. As his wife entered, he rose, with his invariable politeness, and one glance at his ruddy, cheerful face convinced Lexy that he knew nothing of what had happened.
“Caroline has a headache,” Mrs. Enderby explained. “It will be better for her to rest for a little.”
“Ah! Too bad!” said he. “Don’t think she gets out in the air enough. Er—good morning, Miss Moran!”
Lexy almost forgot to answer him, so intent was she upon watching Mrs. Enderby open her letters. There must, she thought, be some change in that calm, pale face when she didn’t find a letter from Caroline, there must be something to break this inhuman tranquillity.
But nothing broke it. Mr. Enderby ate his breakfast, and his wife chatted affably with him while she glanced over her mail. The sunshine poured into the room, gleaming on silver and linen, and on the cheerful young parlor maid moving quietly about her duties. It was a morning just like other mornings; and, in spite of herself, Lexy’s feeling of dread and oppression began to lighten. Mr. Enderby was so thoroughly unperturbed, Mrs. Enderby was so serene and majestic, the house was so bright and pleasant in the spring morning, that it was hard to believe that anything could be really amiss.
“But I don’t care!” she thought sturdily. “I know there is!”
Mr. Enderby finished his breakfast and rose, and, as usual, his wife accompanied him to the front door. Alone in the dining room, Lexy made haste to finish her own meal. Just as she pushed back her chair, Mrs. Enderby returned.
“I shall ring, Annie,” she told the parlor maid, and the girl disappeared. Then she turned to Lexy. “The letter has come,” she said.
Lexy stared at her with such an expression of amazement and dismay that Mrs. Enderby smiled.
“You are very young,” she said. “You wish always for the dramatic. When you have lived as long as I, you will see that such things do not happen.”