"She's gone," he announced, with a brevity more eloquent of his state of mind than a flood of words would have been. "Gone! Where?" "Home--to spend that ten thousand dollars, of course. She left this." With a frown John Denby took the proffered bit of paper upon which had been scrawled:-- 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." "Wenton is her home town, I suppose." "Yes. She left there, you know, two years before I saw her. Her father died and then her mother; and she had to look out for herself. I shall write, of course, and send it up before I go. And I shall try to write decently; but I will own up, father, I'm mad clear through." "Too bad, too bad!" John Denby frowned and shook his head again. "I must confess, Burke, that I, too, didn't quite think this--of Helen." "I don't know her street address, of course." Burke was on his feet, pacing back and forth. "But that isn't necessary. It's a small town--I know that. I told her I thought she'd like the hotel best; but she may prefer to go to some friend's home. However, that doesn't signify. She'll get it all right, if I direct it simply to Wenton. But I can't have a reply before I leave. There isn't time, even if she deigned to write--which I doubt, in her present evident frame of mind. Pleasant, isn't it? Makes me feel real happy to start off with, to-morrow!"