"Because, for one reason, Doctor Wing thought this the better plan for you——"
"But the expense of it!" he interposed, flushing hotly. "To say nothing about the imposition on you."
"Oh, don't let that trouble you," said Helen calmly. "Of course, I wrote to your uncle, telling him of your illness. I thought he would be wondering, after sending you the ticket, why you did not put in an appearance at San Francisco."
"Well, what did he say?"
"He wrote me to see that you were made comfortable, and sent me some money."
"How much?"
"Fifty dollars," Helen confessed, rather reluctantly.
A cynical smile curled John Hungerford's lips.
"Fifty dollars! It has cost you many times that to provide for my needs, and the care I have had, to say nothing about the doctor's bill," he faltered. "Well"—with a reckless air—"I shall soon be where I will trouble no one, and—I am glad of it."
"Why should you be glad of it?" Helen gravely asked.