I hope you'll enjoy your playday as much as I shall mine. Address me at Wenton—if you care to write.
Helen.
"Where did you find this?"
"On my chiffonier. I didn't think that—of Helen."
"And there was nothing to show when she left?"
"Nothing—except that the apartment was in spick-and-span order from end to end; and that must have taken some time to accomplish."
"But perhaps the neighbors would—"
"There's no one she knows but Mrs. Cobb," interrupted Burke, with an impatient gesture. "Do you suppose I'm going to her and whimper, 'My wife's gone. Please, do you know when she went?' Not much! I saw her—the dear creature! And one glance at her face showed that she was dying to be asked. But I didn't afford her that satisfaction. I gave her a particularly blithe 'Good-morning,' and then walked away as if I'd known I was coming home to an empty house all the time. But, I repeat, I'm disappointed. I didn't think this of Helen—running off like this!"
"You think she was angry, then, at your letter?"
"Of course she was—at that, and at the way I left her the other night. I was a bit of a cad there, I'll admit; but that doesn't excuse her for doing a trick like this. I wrote her a good letter, and you sent her a very generous check; and I told her I was coming to-day to pick up my traps and say good-bye. She didn't care to see me—that's all. But she might have had some thought that I'd like to see my daughter before I go. If there was time I'd run up there. But it's out of the question—with only to-morrow before we start."