She was stunned by this final blow. Her eyes gazed into vacancy. What she was to do now she did not know. The next day she had to go away into strange lodgings, with hardly any money, without any possibility of her applying again to Rex, without support of any sort. She had never known real poverty, for her "aunt" had always more or less been in funds; and the prospect appalled her. She would face it, however, at all costs, and, the bookbinding failing her, her mind naturally recurred, with a gasp of hope, to the singing. There was the appointment at East Orange at eight. She looked at the clock; she might have time, though it would mean an instant rush. She would go. True, she had written the agent to say that she would not, and he might have so advised his client. But perhaps he had not had time to do this, since she had written him so late. In any case, there was a chance that she should meet the person in question, and then she could explain. Suddenly she leaped up, hurried on her hat and coat, and ran out of the house. In a few minutes she was at the Hudson Tube, bound for Hoboken and East Orange. Of course it was a mad thing to leave an unopened letter on the table, but just then poor Winifred was nearly out of her mind. CHAPTER XVIII THE CRASH When Carshaw came, with lightsome step and heart freed from care--for in some respects he was irresponsible as any sane man could be--to visit his beloved Winifred next day, he was met by a frightened and somewhat incoherent Miss Goodman. "Not been home all night! Surely you can offer some explanation further than that maddening statement?" cried he, when the shock of her news had sent the color from his face and the joy from his eyes. "Oh, sir, I don't know what to say. Indeed, I am not to blame." Miss Goodman, kind-hearted soul, was more flurried now by Carshaw's manner than by Winifred's inexplicable disappearance. "Blame, my good woman, who is imputing blame?" he blazed at her. "But there's a hidden purpose, a convincing motive, in her going out and not returning. Give me some clue, some reason. A clear thought now, the right word from you, may save hours of useless search." "How can I give any clues?" cried the bewildered landlady. "The dear young creature was crying all day fit to break her heart after the lady called--" "The lady! What lady?" "Your mother, sir. Didn't she tell you? Mrs. Carshaw was here the day before yesterday, and she must have spoken very cruelly to Winifred to make her so downcast for hours. I was that sorry for her--" Now, Carshaw had the rare faculty--rare, that is, in men of a happy-go-lucky temperament--of becoming a human iceberg in moments of danger or difficulty. The blank absurdity of Miss Goodman's implied assertion that Winifred had run away--though, indeed, running away was uppermost in the girl's thoughts--had roused him to fiery wrath.