She went out and closed the door behind her. A fine, thin rain was falling—nothing to daunt a healthy young creature like Lexy; yet she wished that the sun had been shining. She wished that she hadn’t had to leave the house in the rain, under a gray sky. Somehow it made her only too well aware that she was homeless now, and alone. As was her habit when depressed, she set off to walk briskly; and by the time she reached the Grand Central her cheeks were glowing and her heart considerably less heavy. She learned that she had nearly three hours to wait for the next train to Wyngate; so she bought her ticket, checked her bag, and went out again. In a near-by department store she bought a little chamois pocket. Then she went to the bank, cashed both her checks, and, putting the bills into her pocket, hung it around her neck inside her blouse. It was very comfortable to have so much money. Then, only as a forlorn hope, she rang up the offices of J. J. Eames & Son, on State Street. “I don’t suppose they keep track of their passengers,” she thought; “but it can’t do any harm.” So, when she got the connection, she asked politely: “Could you possibly tell me where Mr. Charles Houseman has gone?” “Certainly!” answered an equally polite voice at the other end of the wire. “Just a moment, please! You mean Mr. Houseman, second officer on the Mazell?” “I don’t know,” said Lexy, surprised. “Has he blue eyes?” There was an instant’s silence. Then the voice spoke again, a little unsteadily. “I—I believe so.” “He’s laughing at me!” thought Lexy indignantly, and her voice became severely dignified. “Can you tell me where the—the Mazell has gone?” “Lisbon and Gibraltar. We expect her back in about five weeks.” “Thank you!” said Lexy. “And that’s that!” she added, to herself. “So he’s a sailor! I rather like sailors. Well, anyhow, he’s gone.” She sighed. “Carry on!” she said. She went into a tea room on Forty-Second Street and ordered herself a very good lunch. “Much better than I can afford,” she thought. “Goodness knows what’s going to happen to me! Here I am, without visible means of support. I suppose I’m an idiot. Lots of people would say so. They’d say I ought to be looking for a new job this instant; but I don’t care! I’m not going back on Caroline. Mrs. Enderby won’t do anything, and Mr. Houseman’s gone away, and there’s nobody but me. Perhaps I can’t do very much, but, by jiminy, I’m going to try!” There was still an hour to spare, and she passed it in a fashion she had often scornfully denounced. She went shopping—without buying. She wandered through a great department store, looking at all sorts of things. Some of them she wanted, but she resolutely told herself that she was better off without them.