The car took them to a drowsy little village, and stopped before a small cottage on a side street. Mrs. Enderby got out, followed by Lexy, the living ghost of Caroline. Side by side they went up the flagged path and on to the porch. Mrs. Enderby rang the bell, and in a moment the door was opened by a thin, sandy-haired woman in spectacles. “Mrs. Enderby!” she cried, her plain face lighting up in a delighted smile. “And my dear little Caroline!” She held out her hand to Lexy, and suddenly her face changed. “But—” she began. Mrs. Enderby pushed her gently inside and closed the door. “But it’s not Caroline!” cried Miss Craigie. “Hush!” said Mrs. Enderby. “I shall explain to you. Please allow the chauffeur to carry upstairs a small trunk, and please have no air of surprise.” Evidently Miss Craigie was in the habit of obeying Mrs. Enderby. She opened the front door and called the chauffeur, who came in with the trunk. “Turn your back!” whispered Mrs. Enderby to Lexy. “Go and look out of the window!” Lexy heard the man go past the sitting room and up the stairs. Presently he came running down, and the front door closed after him. “Now, Miss Craigie,” said Mrs. Enderby, “if you will permit Miss Moran to go upstairs?” “Oh, certainly!” answered the bewildered Miss Craigie. “Whatever you think best, Mrs. Enderby, I’m sure.” “Go!” said Mrs. Enderby. The lady’s tone aroused in Lexy a great desire not to go. Of course, now that she had gone so far, it would be childish to refuse to continue; but she meant to take her time. She stood there by the window, slowly drawing off her gloves, her back turned to the room. Suddenly Mrs. Enderby caught her by the shoulder and turned her around. “Go!” she said again. “Take off those things of my child’s. _Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_ Have you no heart?” There was such a note of anguish in her voice that Lexy no longer delayed. She followed Miss Craigie up the stairs to a neat, prim little bedroom, where the trunk stood, already unlocked. “If you want anything—” suggested Miss Craigie, in her gentle and apologetic way. “No, thank you,” replied Lexy. Miss Craigie went out, closing the door softly behind her. Lexy took off Caroline’s hat and coat and laid them on the bed. “I wonder if I’ll ever see her wearing them again!” she thought. For a long time she stood motionless, looking down at the things that Caroline had worn. Most pitifully eloquent, they seemed to her—the hat that had covered Caroline’s fair hair, the coat that had fitted her slender shoulders. Lexy looked and looked, grave and sorrowful—and in that moment her resolution was made. “I’m going to find her!” she said, half aloud. “I don’t care what any one else does or what any one else thinks. I _know_ she’s in trouble of some sort, and I’m going to find her!”