The Mask | Page 4

the one in
the dining-room.
It was in this room with its atmosphere of books so conducive to peace
and introspection that Helen loved to spend her spare time. The walls
were literally lined with tomes, dealing with every branch of human
knowledge--religion, science, philosophy, literature. Here when alone
she enjoyed many an intellectual treat, browsing among the world's
treasures of the mind. Even when her sister had a few intimates to tea,
or when friends dropped in in the evening, they always preferred being
in the library to anywhere 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 François
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