_ CHAPTER XV
The last guest had gone. One by one the lights in the Traynor residence were extinguished. The servants, tired after an exciting and strenuous day, had gone to their quarters.
In the hall downstairs, the grandfather's clock rang out its musical chimes and then, in ponderous tones, slowly struck the twelve hours of midnight.
The master of the house was sitting at the desk in the library, looking over some papers. From time to time he glanced significantly, first at the clock and then at the corner where Helen and Ray were chatting over the events of the day. At last the young girl took the hint. Jumping up, she exclaimed good naturedly:
"How selfish I am to be sitting gossiping here when poor Kenneth is so tired. Go to bed, both of you. I'm so sleepy myself I can hardly keep awake. Good night!"
"Good night, dear!" said Helen, rising and kissing her.
"Good night, Ken! Pleasant dreams," cried the young girl as she left the room.
"Good night!" he responded hoarsely.
The sound of her footsteps died away in the distance and Helen and the gambler sat there in silence. He watched her furtively, trying to guess the trend of her thoughts, his eyes bloodshot with wine, feasting on every line of her girlish figure.
Never had she looked more beautiful, more desirable, than this evening. Her
décolleté gown revealed a white, plump neck, her lips were red and tempting, her large dark eyes fairly sparkled from excitement. It was a vision to distract a saint and Handsome was no saint. It was indeed only with the greatest difficulty that he curbed his impatience to carry off the prize that lay within his grasp.
"Are you tired," he said at last. "Do you want to go to bed?"
"Not very," she answered. "I'm too excited to sleep. Hasn't it been an exciting day?"
He made no reply, pretending to be occupied at the desk, and she relapsed into a dream silence, glad of a few quiet, peaceful moments to be alone with her thoughts. How good it was to have him home again! Now she could be at peace once more and enjoy life as she used to. She could go to the opera, to the theater. The days would not be so monotonous. She wondered why she was still unable to shake off the feeling of anxiety and apprehension which had haunted her ever since he went away. With a devoted husband safe at her side, what reason had she for feeling depressed? Yet, for some reason she was unable to explain, she was not able even now to throw off her melancholy and presentiment of danger.
There recurred to her mind what Signor Keralio had said, his veiled, ambiguous words of warning. Could it be true, was it possible that her husband had deceived her all these years and unsuspected by her, had led a double life of deceit and disloyalty? Certainly there was much that needed explanation. The loss of the diamonds did not directly concern her, although she felt that, too, was part of the mystery. But his strange aloofness of manner, his inexplicable loss of memory and nervousness, the frenzied outburst when she had mentioned Keralio's name that afternoon, the sudden craving for drink--was not all this to some extent, corroboration of what the fencing master has told her? She thought she would question him, speak to him openly, frankly, as a loyal wife should the man she loves, and give him an opportunity to explain. Now was as good a time as ever. Looking up she said abruptly:
"Signor Keralio was here while you were away. I started telling you this afternoon, but you got so excited----"
Making a deprecatory gesture with his hand he said indifferently:
"That's all right. I was tired and nervous. I'm quieter now. What did Keralio have to say?"
"Nothing worth listening to. He never says anything but impertinences."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You mustn't take him too seriously."
Hotly she retorted:
"He takes himself too seriously. If he only knew how repellent he is to a decent woman he would cease to annoy me."
He laughed.
"Oh, Keralio's not a bad sort--when you get to know him. Those foreigners think nothing of making love to a woman----"
"I don't want to know him," she retorted with spirit, "and what's more, I don't want him coming here. One evening he was so insulting that I had to show him the door. He had the impudence to come again. So I had my servant put him out. You won't invite him here again, will you?"
He was silent, while she sat watching him, amazed that he did not at once fiercely resent the insult done her in his absence. After a pause, he said awkwardly:
"I don't invite him. Keralio's the kind of a chap who invites himself."
"But can't you put him out?" she demanded with growing irritation.
"No--I can't," he answered doggedly.
"Why?" she demanded firmly.
"I can't--that's all!"
She looked at him wonderingly, and the color came and went in her face and neck. There was a note almost of contempt in her voice as she demanded:
"What is the hold this creature has on you? Is it something you are ashamed of?"
The blood surged to his face and the veins stood out on his temples like whipcord. Another instant and it had receded, leaving him ghastly pale.
"We have business interests in common, that's all," he said hastily and apologetically. "He has been very useful to me. I don't like him any more than you do, but in business one can't criticize too closely the manners or morals of one's associates."
"No, but a man can prevent his associates from annoying his wife."
He made no answer, but toyed nervously with a paper cutter. Determined to get at the truth, she went on:
"What business interests can you have together? Is it legitimate business or merely stock gambling?"
"What do you mean?"
Rising from the divan, she went toward him. Earnestly, she said:
"Kenneth, I've wanted to speak to you about this matter for a long time. During your absence I've heard rumors. Things have been insinuated. A hint has been dropped here, gossip has been overheard there--all to the effect that you are heavily involved in Wall Street. Is it true?"
For a moment he was silent, at a loss what to answer. He could not imagine the reason for the questioning or where it might lead him, but instinct warned him that it was dangerous ground and that caution was necessary. Why hadn't François told him of his brother's Wall Street operations? It would never do to show himself entirely ignorant of them. If such rumors existed, there was probably some basis of them. No doubt his brother had played the market and kept from his wife the extent of his losses.
"Is it true?" she repeated.
He shrugged his shoulders. Nonchalantly, he replied:
"Never believe all you hear!"
Her face lit up with pleasure.
"Really?" she exclaimed. "It isn't true?"
"Not a word of it. I have money invested in stocks and bonds, but anyone who accuses me of wild cat speculation is guilty of telling what I would very politely call a d----d lie!"
Reassured more by his ease and carelessness of manner than by his actual words of denial, the young wife gave an exclamation of delight.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" she exclaimed. "You've no idea how relieved I feel. It was worrying me terribly to feel that you might be in difficulties and had not thought enough of me to take me into your confidence." Looking at him appealingly she added:
"You will always confide in me, won't you Ken?"
"Sure I will, sweetheart----"
Trembling with the ardor he was trying to control he seized hold of her hand and drew her on to his knee. She offered no resistance, but passively sat there, clasped against his broad shoulder, her face radiant with happiness at the load which his words had taken off her mind.
Putting his arm round her waist, he leaned forward as if to kiss her, but drawing quickly back she said:
"There's still something else I must ask you before my happiness is quite complete."
"What's that?" he demanded, impatient at these continual interruptions to his amorous advances.
Turning she looked steadily into his face, as if trying to read the truth or falsity of his answer. She could not see his eyes, veiled as they were by the glasses, but that sensitive mouth she knew so well, that determined chin, that high forehead crowned by the bushy brown hair with its solitary white lock--all these were as dear to her as they had always been. To think that he might have fondled some other woman as he was now fondling her was intolerable agony.
"Kenneth," she said slowly and impressively, "are you sure that there is no part of your life that you have kept hidden from me?"
He started and for a moment changed color. What did she mean? Was it possible that she suspected the substitution, or was she alluding to some past history of his brother's life, of which he knew nothing? Evasively, he answered:
"Why all these question, sweetheart, the first day I come home. Is this the kind of welcome you promised me, the one I had a right to expect. I am very tired. Let us go to bed."
His arm still around her, he again drew her to him and, stooping, tried to reach her mouth with his own. But again she resisted, her mind too disturbed by jealousy to be in a mood to respond to his wooing. Gently she said:
"I know you are tired, Ken. I am tired, too,--tired of all these rumors and slanderous insinuations. I have been made unhappy by hearing this gossip. It is my right to tell you what I have heard and ask for a straightforward, loyal explanation. I know you are true to me. I have never doubted it for an instant. I only want a word from you to forget what I've heard and dismiss the matter from my mind forever."
He looked at her, an amused kind of expression playing about the corners of his mouth. It was only with an effort that he controlled the muscles of his face. What a comedy, he thought to himself! Here was this sweet little woman breaking her heart over something which, as far as he knew, didn't exist. But he must continue to play his part, no matter at what cost. Evidently, she had heard something for which there might be some basis of truth. She might even have proofs of his brother's infidelity, and ready to produce them. Too sweeping a denial might still further complicate matters, arouse suspicion, and end in exposure. Cautiously, he replied:
"You know all there is in my life, sweetheart. I never conceal anything from you."
Looking searchingly at him, she demanded:
"Never?"
"Never."
"Has there been another woman in your life, Kenneth, since you married me?"
"No, sweetheart--never. If anyone told you that or even insinuated it, he was a scoundrel. It's a damned lie! You are and always will be the only one----"
Her head fell back on his shoulder.
"Then I am completely happy!" she murmured.
His arms folded about her and she felt his warm breath on her cheek. But this time she did not resist. It felt good to be sheltered there in those strong arms against the attacks and calumnies of the world.
"It is late," he murmured.
Suddenly, he threw her head back and bending down till his mouth reached hers he kissed her full on the lips. She did not resist, but just abandoned herself, responding only feebly to the fierce passion that made him tremble like a leaf. His face flushed, his hands shaking, he murmured:
"It is very late. Are you not tired?"
"No dear--I'm not tired. There's no hurry. We needn't get up early to-morrow. It's so beautiful here--sitting together like this--so happy in each other's company."
"But I am tired," he said, trying to control his emotion.
It was almost more than he could endure, yet still he mastered himself, and resisted the temptation that arose violently within him to take her by force, if needs be, and carry her into the inner room, as the wild beast, tiring of playing with its victim, suddenly ends the game by seizing its hapless prey and drags it away to its lair. Was he not the master? Why should he allow her childish prattle to stand in the way of his desires. For years, Handsome had not known female society save that of those wretched outcasts who infest the mining camps. He had caroused with them and quarreled with them. He had even loved one of them--after the rough and ready fashion of the
veldt. She was a Spaniard, a tall handsome woman, with large black eyes and the temper of a fury. She had killed her husband in a drunken brawl, and on leaving prison had gone to South Africa. She met the gambler one night in a gambling house, and, without as much as asking for an introduction, she went up to him and, in a characteristic Spanish style, gave him a hearty kiss on both cheeks. It was her way of notifying her female associates that, henceforth, the big miner was her man. Handsome accepted the challenge, and for a couple of years they lived as happily together as can two adventurers who are in constant hot water with the police. One day, in a fit of drunken jealousy, she struck him. Furious with rage, he seized her by the neck. He did not mean to harm her; it was his giant strength that was to blame. Anyhow her neck was broken and the coroner called it an accident. For a week or so, Handsome was really sorry. She was the only woman he had ever cared for. She at least was a woman.
But this slip of a girl, with her childish prattle and aristocratic airs, was quite different. Accustomed to the rougher ways of the camp, her fine manners and refined graces at first had rather intimidated him. He did not feel at home with her. He felt awkward and ill at ease. Yet, for all that, she was a woman, too--a woman of his own race, desirable, tempting. When François had first suggested that he impersonate his brother and enjoy his fortune, he had said nothing about his brother's wife. Perhaps he reserved her for his master, Keralio. At the thought, a pang of jealousy went through him. If Keralio, why not he? Evidently Keralio had been stalking the game, for she complained of his conduct and had dismissed him from the house. Yet, in what position was he to frustrate Keralio in any of his schemes? He had him in his power; he was completely at his mercy. He allowed him to masquerade in New York as the millionaire, but he was the real master of the Traynor home. Even now, François might be spying on their actions, eager to report to the arch conspirator. Rising from the chair, he lifted her to her feet.
"Come, darling--it is late----"
He led her slowly, almost imperceptibly, in the direction of the inner room. A feeling of languor came over her, and she allowed him to lead her, abandoning herself to his ardent, feverish embrace, responding every now and then to the hot kisses he rained on her mouth and neck. Through her thin dress he could feel her soft form pressing against him. From her neck arose a delicious aroma, a kind of feminine incense that still further aroused and lashed his desire.
"I adore you--I adore you!" he murmured, as he kissed her again. Slowly he led her past the bookcase and marble Venus to the open door of her pink and white boudoir.
She looked up at him in surprise.
"How you love me!" she murmured. "You never used to care for me like this."
Her head on his shoulder, her eyes half closed, she was conscious only of the presence of the man she loved better than anyone in the world.
Yet even now, in the hour of her supreme content and felicity, when all her tormenting anxieties and doubts had been dissipated by his frank words of denial, there was still something that worried her. He was changed somehow, even in his love making. It was delicious to be loved passionately, fiercely, like this--to be carried off by force, as it were, by your own husband. But she did not understand how a man could change so much in a few weeks. Kenneth had always loved her deeply, but never had she known him display such ardor as this. She had heard that men change, particularly after long absences from home. Some, she had heard, became colder; others were more demonstrative. Of the two, she thought the latter preferable. If there was such love in the world, why should it not be shown her. Her own temperament was cold, but no woman could but feel flattered that she possessed the power to arouse men to such passion.
At last they had reached the threshold of the boudoir. What to him was an earthly paradise, was almost attained. In a state of blissful helplessness, intoxicated by a delicious sensation of being completely dominated by a will stronger than her own, she permitted him to take her where he wished. Her eyes closed, her head on his shoulder, she submitted willingly to his fervent kisses. Another moment and he had closed the door behind them, when, suddenly, a commotion on the landing outside the library aroused both with a start. There was the sound of voices and people running up the stairs.
"What's that?" exclaimed Helen startled.
Irritated at this unlooked for interruption, the gambler went quickly toward the landing to investigate. François met him at the library door. In his hand he held an envelope. Holding it out, he said:
"A telegram for Madame!"
"A telegram!" cried Helen, rushing forward. "Good God, I hope Dorothy is not----"
She tore it open, while Handsome stood by in silence. On the valet's face there was a triumphant expression, the gratified smile of one rogue who enjoys the discomfiture of another.
Helen suddenly gave a cry.
"It's as I thought!" she exclaimed. "Dorothy is worse. The doctor thinks it is scarlet fever. I must go to her at once."
"Go where?" demanded Handsome in consternation.
"To Philadelphia."
"To Philadelphia to-night?" he cried in dismay.
"Yes--to-night," she said firmly.
He protested vigorously.
"Nonsense--you can't go to-night. It will do no good. Wait till the morning. There are no trains."
Quickly, the valet drew from his pocket a time-table. With a side glance at his master, he said:
"There is a train at 1.15. If Madame is quick, she will make it. The car is already waiting downstairs."
Helen seized her fur coat, which the obliging valet had also brought up from the hall.
"Yes--yes. Throw a few things in my bag. You needn't come, Ken. I'll telephone you directly I get to Philadelphia. Good-bye!"
The next instant she was gone and the gambler, with a muttered curse, went to the sideboard and poured out a glass of whiskey, with which to drown his disappointment. _