"She certainly is, you poor fool," said his host.
Beatrice had finished her unlovely hunt. Even again, she was with them, and now she looked straight at Johnson Boller, ignoring the very existence of Anthony Fry.
"I haven't found her," said Beatrice. "She's hidden somewhere, or else she's with other friends in this wretched, sanctimonious hole."
"Beatrice——" Johnson Boller began, with a great, hopeful gasp.
"But I will find her!" the lady assured him, "and when I do—I'm going now."
"Home?"
Momentarily, Beatrice's eyes swam. It seemed a good sign, and Johnson Boller rose hurriedly. The eyes ceased swimming and blazed at him!
"I am never going there again," Beatrice informed him, with the old, chilling calm. "I shall go to a hotel, and later, I hope, back to father and mother. You will hear from my lawyers, Johnson, within a day or two."
"But, Beatrice——" Johnson Boller protested. "That doesn't mean that you're crazy enough to—to try divorcing me?"
"I am not crazy, and there will be very little trouble about it, Johnson," the lady said gravely. "That is what it means. Good-by."