This thought caused her to turn toward her hostess again. She _was_ beautiful, and in a gentle and gracious fashion, and yet— “I don’t know,” thought Lexy. “There’s something—she doesn’t look ill—perhaps she’s just lackadaisical; but certainly she’s not simple and easy to understand. She must know about Caroline Enderby. The thing is, would she help me, or—” Or would Mrs. Quelton also be her enemy? Lost in her own thought, Lexy sat silent. She had, indeed, certain grave faults in social deportment. The head mistress of the finishing school she had attended had often said to her: “Alexandra, it is absolutely inexcusable to give way to moods in the company of other people!” In theory Lexy admitted that this was true, but it made no difference. If she didn’t feel inclined to talk, she didn’t talk. It was so this afternoon. She merely answered when she was spoken to—which was not often, for Dr. Quelton was asking his brother-in-law questions about India, and Mrs. Quelton seemed no more desirous to talk than Lexy was. What is more, Lexy felt certain that the doctor’s wife was not listening to the talk between the two men, but, like herself, was thinking her own thoughts. The parlor maid wheeled the tea cart in, and Mrs. Quelton roused herself to pour the tea and to make polite inquiries, in her plaintive tone, as to what her guests wanted in the way of cream and sugar. The maid vanished again, and Dr. Quelton passed about the cups and plates. “It’s China tea,” he observed. “I import it myself. It has quite a distinctive flavor, I think.” Captain Grey praised it, and Lexy herself found it very agreeable. She sipped it, staring into the fire, glad to be let alone. Behind her she could hear Captain Grey talking about the Ceylon tea plantations. His voice sounded so pathetic! “Another cup, Miss Moran?” asked Mrs. Quelton. “Yes, thank you,” answered Lexy, and the doctor brought it to her. Poor Captain Grey and his precious, new-found sister! The sound of his voice brought tears to her eyes. “But this is idiotic!” she thought, annoyed and surprised. Still the tears welled up. She gulped down the rest of her tea hastily, hoping that it would steady her, but it did not help at all. Sobs rose in her throat, and an immense and formless sorrow came over her. “This has got to stop!” she thought, in alarm. “I can’t be such a chump!” She turned to Mrs. Quelton. “Are you going to grow any—” she began, but her voice was so unsteady that she had to stop for a moment. “Any flowers in—in your—g-garden?” The question ended in a loud and unmistakable sob. They all turned to look at her, startled and anxious. She made a desperate effort to regain control of herself. “S-snapdragon,” she said. “So—so p-pretty!” Then, suddenly, all her defenses gave way. The teacup fell from her hand and was shattered on the floor, and, burying her head in her arms, she cried as she had never cried in her life.