_My dear Helen_ [she read]: First let me apologize for flying off the handle the way I did last night. I shouldn't have done it. But, do you know? I believe I'm glad I did--for it's taught me something. Maybe you've discovered it, too. It's this: you and I have been getting on each other's nerves, lately. We need a rest from each other. Now, don't bristle up and take it wrong, my dear. Just be sensible and think. How many times a day do we snap and snarl at each other? You're tired and half sick with the work and the baby. I'm tired and half sick with _my_ work, and we're always rubbing each other the wrong way. That's why I think we need a vacation from each other. And dad has made it possible for us to take one. He wants me to go to Alaska with him on a little trip. I want to go, of course. Then, too, I think I ought to go. Dad needs me. Not that he is old, but he is just getting over an illness, and his head bothers him a lot. I can be of real use to him. At his own suggestion he is sending you the enclosed check. He wants you to accept it with his best wishes for a pleasant vacation. He suggests--and I echo him--that it would be a fine idea if you should take the baby and go back to your home town for a visit. I know your father and mother are not living; but there must be some one there whom you would like to visit. Or, better yet, now that you have the means, you would probably prefer a good hotel for headquarters, and then make short visits to all your friends. It would do you worlds of good, and Baby, too. And now--I'm writing this instead of coming to tell it face to face, because I believe it's the best way. I'll be frank. After last night, we might say things when we first met that we'd be sorry for. And I don't want that to happen. So I'm going to stay up here for a day or two. Let me see--to-day is Friday. We are due to leave next Wednesday. I'll be down the first of the week to say good-bye and pick up my traps. Meanwhile, chicken, you'll be all right with Bridget there; and just you put your wits to work and go to planning out that vacation of yours, and how you're going to spend the money. Then you can be ready to tell me all about it when I come down. Your affectionate husband, BURKE. Helen's first feeling, upon finishing the note, was one of utter stupefaction. With a dazed frown and a low ejaculation she turned the letter over and began to read it again--more slowly. This time she understood. But her thoughts were still in a whirl of surprised disbelief. Then, gradually, came a measure of conviction. Fresh from her vigils of the night before, with its self-accusations and its heroic resolutions, she was so chastened and softened that there was more of grief than of anger in her first outburst.