She washed her hands and face, brushed her hair, put on her own hat and jacket, and went downstairs again. Mrs. Enderby was standing in the tiny hall, and from the sitting room there came a sound of muffled sobbing.
“She is an imbecile, that woman!” said Mrs. Enderby, with a sigh; “but she will hold her tongue. And you?”
“I’ve got to do as I think best,” answered Lexy. “I’ll say good-by now, Mrs. Enderby.”
“There is no train until three o’clock. It is now after one. We shall have lunch directly.”
“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.”