"Did she leave word when she would return?"
"She 'as gone, sir!" persisted Frederick, in abysmal distress at the news and at his inability to convey it in letters of molten meteors. He added, "To Philadelphia."
It sounded to him like Singapore. He did not think there was much difference, anyhow.
"Philadelphia?" echoed H. R., blankly.
"Yes, sir!" said Frederick, with sad triumph.
"Whatever in the world can she—" H. R. caught himself in time. He nearly had reduced himself to the level of humanity—well called dead level—by confessing ignorance aloud.
"Mrs. Goodchild is at 'ome, sir!" suggested Frederick, ingratiatingly.
"Damned good place for her!" muttered H. R., savagely, and gave Frederick a five-dollar gold piece. In some respects, Frederick admitted, America was ahead of the old country.
H. R. walked away frowning fiercely. He went nearly a block before he smiled. Love always interferes with the chemistry of the stomach and hits the brain through the toxins. What an ass he was not to have realized the truth on the instant:
Grace had run away from him!