The Mask | Page 6

delicately chiseled like that of some
sculptured goddess, had none of that voluptuous grossness which mars
the symmetry of many women, otherwise beautiful.
As she nestled there, pale and trembling in his strong arms, he did not
dare move, for fear that he might unwittingly injure a being so frail and
delicate. All his life Kenneth had lived a clean life. He had not led the

riotous, licentious kind of existence which some men of his means and
opportunities think necessary to their comfort. He had never been a
libertine. He had respected women; indeed, had rather avoided them.
But if a man, busily engaged in the battle of life, his mind always
engrossed in serious affairs, succeeds in keeping natural instincts under
control there comes a day when nature asserts herself, when his
manhood demands the satisfaction of legitimate cravings. This bachelor
who had lived a secluded, hermit-like kind of existence till he was
thirty was suddenly and violently awakened to the fact that he was
made of flesh and blood as are other men. This slim girl with her sweet
ways, her pretty face, her ready wit, had completely vanquished him,
and not alone did she satisfy him mentally, she also attracted him
physically.
He realized it now as he held her tight against his breast. Her head had
fallen on his shoulder. Her face with its pale, delicate profile was
turned toward him, the eyes half closed. The mouth, arched like Cupid's
bow and partly open, disclosing the white, moistened teeth, and red and
luscious like some rare exotic fruit, was tempting enough to madden a
saint. Kenneth was only human. Unable to resist, he lowered his head
until his mouth grazed hers and then with a wild, almost savage
exclamation of joy, the exultant cry of lust awakened and gratified, his
lips met hers and lingered.
To Helen it seemed as though she was in a dream of untold ecstasy.
Always a shrinking, modest girl, especially in the company of the
opposite sex, in any calmer moment she would have been shocked
beyond expression at this momentary abandonment she permitted
herself. As she lay in this man's arms and felt his warm kisses on her
lips, there came over her a strange sensation she had never known
before. She grew dizzy and for a moment thought she would faint. All
at once he released her. Almost apologetically, he murmured:
"Forgive me--I lost control over myself--I want you Helen--I want you
for my wife. Will you marry me?"
She drew away and turned away her head, so he might not see her

burning cheeks.
He persisted.
"Will you marry me?"
She hesitated a moment before replying. Then, very simply, she
answered:
"Yes, Kenneth."
That was three years ago.
CHAPTER II
In a certain set Helen Traynor was not popular. Some people thought
her old fashioned, strait-laced, prudish. They resented her having no
taste for their frivolous, decadent amusements. They called her proud
and condescending whereas, as a matter of fact, she merely asked to be
let alone. Of course, it was only people whose opinions were worthless
that criticized her. All who were admitted to her intimacy knew that
there was no friend more loyal, no woman more womanly and
charming.
In one respect she might be called old fashioned. Her views on life had
certainly little in common with those held by most present-day women.
She had no taste for bridge, she refused to adopt freak fashions in dress,
she discouraged the looseness of tone in speech and manner so much
affected by other women of her acquaintance--in a word she was in
society but not of it. Naturally, she had more acquaintances than friends,
yet she was not unpopular among her intimates. While secretly they
laughed at what they termed her puritanical notions, they were shrewd
enough to realize that they could hardly afford to snub a woman whose
husband occupied so prominent a position in the world of affairs.
Besides, was it not to their interest to cultivate her? Who gave more
delightful dinners, who could on occasion be a more charming hostess?
An accomplished musician, a clever talker, she easily dominated in
whatever salon she happened to be, and the men were always found

crowding eagerly around her.
Like most women of her temperament, sure of themselves and in whose
mind never enters even a thought of disloyalty to her marriage vows,
she made no concealment of her preference for the masculine sex. With
those men who were attracted by her unusual mentality,--she was
gracious, and affable, discussing with politicians, jurists, financiers,
economic and sociological questions with a brilliancy and insight that
fairly astonished them. With literary men and musicians, she chatted
intelligently of the latest novels and pictures and operas with the
facility and expertness