Mrs. Enderby’s tone aroused a spirit of obstinate defiance in her. Those flashing black eyes were fixed upon her with an expression which did not please Lexy, and Lexy looked back with an expression which did not please Mrs. Enderby. “So you will not tell me what you know!” said Mrs. Enderby, with a chilly smile. It was on the tip of Lexy’s tongue to say, with considerable warmth, that she _had_ told all she knew; but the memory of the telephone call checked her. “If I tell her about that,” she thought, “she’ll just say, ‘Ah, I thought so!’ And she’ll be surer than ever that Caroline has eloped with a fortune hunter, and she won’t make any effort to find her. No—I’m not going to tell her until she gets really frightened.” Aloud she said: “I’ll do anything in the world that I can do, Mrs. Enderby, to help you find Caroline.” “It is not necessary,” said Mrs. Enderby. “I shall have her letter.” There was another tap at the door. Mrs. Enderby closed the door leading into the bathroom, and then called: “Come in!” The parlor maid entered. “You may take away the tray,” her mistress said graciously. “Miss Enderby has finished.” Again a feeling that was almost horror came over Lexy. There was the bed Caroline had slept in, there was the breakfast Caroline had eaten, there was Caroline’s bath running—and Caroline wasn’t there! Lexy wanted to get out of that room and away from Mrs. Enderby. “Do you mind if I go down and get my own breakfast now?” she asked, when the parlor maid had gone out with the tray. “But certainly not!” Mrs. Enderby blandly consented. “We shall go down together.” She turned off the water in the bath, and, following Lexy out of the room, locked the door on the outside. The girl dropped behind her as they descended the stairs, and studied the stout, dignified figure before her with indignant interest. “A mother!” she thought. “A mother, behaving like this! How long is she going to wait for her letter, I wonder? Well, if she won’t do anything, then, by jiminy, I will!” A fresh example of Mrs. Enderby’s remarkable strength of mind awaited them. Mr. Enderby was already seated at the table in the dining room. As his wife entered, he rose, with his invariable politeness, and one glance at his ruddy, cheerful face convinced Lexy that he knew nothing of what had happened. “Caroline has a headache,” Mrs. Enderby explained. “It will be better for her to rest for a little.” “Ah! Too bad!” said he. “Don’t think she gets out in the air enough. Er—good morning, Miss Moran!” Lexy almost forgot to answer him, so intent was she upon watching Mrs. Enderby open her letters. There must, she thought, be some change in that calm, pale face when she didn’t find a letter from Caroline, there must be something to break this inhuman tranquillity.