The Mask | Page 4

else.
Only second to the library in the affection of its young mistress was her bed chamber with which it was connected by a small boudoir. Furnished in Louis XVI. style, it was a beautiful room, decorated in the most dainty and delicate of tones. The bed, copied after Marie Antoinette's couch in the Little Trianon was in sculptured Circassian walnut, upholstered in dull pink brocade, the broad canopy overhead being upheld by two flying cupids. The handsome dressing table with three mirrors and chairs were of the same wood and period. On the floor was a thick carpet especially woven to match the other furnishings.
To-day, littered as it was with trunks and clothes, the room lacked its usual sedateness and dignity, but Helen did not mind. She would have preferred it to look far worse if only her loved one were not going away. His clothes lay scattered all over the floor. There was still much to be done.
Kenneth himself realized it as he ruefully surveyed the scene. Hurry he must. A director's meeting to-night, the steamer sailing to-morrow and here he was not nearly ready. Helen could see no reason why Fran?ois should not do the packing, but he insisted on doing it himself, and was soon deep in the work of filling the trunks that stood around.
While he worked, almost unconscious of her presence, she sat disconsolately on a trunk and watched him, and from time to time, as if ashamed to let him see her weakness, she turned her head aside to furtively wipe away a tear. No doubt her misgivings were foolish. Husbands left their wives on business trips every day. Sensible women were not so silly as to cry over it. It was to be only temporary, she knew that, yet her heart misgave her. She had tried to be resigned to this South African journey, to accept it without protest, but her feelings were too much for her. When she married Kenneth Traynor, the energetic, prosperous Wall Street promoter, everybody knew that it was a love match. Standing six feet two in his stockings, muscular, sinewy, without an ounce of superfluous fat, Kenneth Traynor looked as though he could give a good account of himself no matter in what tight place he found himself. His clean cut features and strong chin denoted strength of character, his deep set blue eyes, a blue of a shade so light rarely seen except in the peasants of Normandy, beamed with frankness and honesty, a kindly smile hovered about his smooth, firm mouth. What at once attracted attention was his hair which was dark and unusually thick and bushy and a peculiar characteristic was a solitary white lock in the center of his forehead. Such a phenomenon of the capillary glands was not uncommon, but as a rule, the white hair is on the side of or at the back of the head. In Kenneth's case, it was the very center of the forehead and imparted to his face an individuality quite its own.
When on leaving college, he had been forced, like other young men, to choose a career, he was unable to decide what he wanted to do. Doctor, lawyer, architect, author--none of these suited his nervous, restless temperament. He craved a more exciting life, and at one time thought seriously of entering the army with the hope of seeing active service in the Philippines. But Aguinaldo's surrender put a quietus on this project, and he entered a broker's office in Wall Street Here, in the maelstrom of frenzied finance, his pent up energies found an outlet. He went into the stock gambling game with the feverish energy of a born gambler. Months of excitement followed, luck being usually with him. He was successful. He doubled and tripled his capital, after which he had good sense enough to stop, withdrawing from the fray before the tide turned. But he could not give up the life entirely. The business of stock promotion was the next best substitute. It was about that time he met the woman he married.
It had been an ideal union in every way, but even Helen herself could not have guessed that day now three years ago when she left the church a bride, how completely, how entirely this man whose sterling qualities, good nature and charm of manner had won her heart, would take complete possession of her, body and soul. Instead of the romance flickering out after the first sudden blaze of fierce passion, as it usually does after the first few months of married life, on her side, at least, the flame had gathered in strength until now it was the one compelling, all absorbing interest in her life.
She recalled how they had first met. It was in the Winter time. She