CHAPTER VI

An awkward silence followed the president's departure. Helen would

have detained him had she dared. Being alone with Keralio was very

distasteful to her. Ill at ease in such close proximity to this man,

whom she feared even more than she disliked, she sat still without

saying a word. Presently between puffs of his cigar, he said:

"You really don't mind my smoking?"

"Oh, not at all."

He bowed and again relapsed into silence. She looked at him sideways

and wondered why this foreigner had always inspired her with such

dislike. His manner was courteous, and he was decidedly handsome. He

had white teeth and fine eyes. They were bold eyes, but so were the

eyes of other men. They had a habit of looking a woman through and

through. She always felt embarrassed under his close scrutiny. It

seemed to her as if he were undressing her mentally and took pleasure

in surveying critically and admirably every part of her as a

connoisseur examines a statue. She had an uncomfortable feeling when

near him. She was afraid to look straight in his eyes, afraid that

possibly he might be able to throw some spell over her, exert some

hypnotic influence that she would not be able to resist. She

considered him a seductive, dangerous man, the kind of man every pure

woman, every wife who wishes to remain faithful to her marriage vows

should avoid.

Suddenly while she was looking at him, he turned his head toward her.

Before she could prevent it their eyes met.

He did not avert his gaze, but kept his eyes fixed on hers as if trying

to awaken in her some of his own ardor. She tried to look away, but

she could not. He seemed to hold her there by sheer force of will

power. Frightened, she started to tremble in every limb. Yet, to her

astonishment, she had no feeling of anger or resentment. It seemed

quite natural that this man should gaze at her in this intimate,

caressing way. She found herself taking pleasure in it. Her vanity

was gratified. If he looked at her so persistently, it must be that he

thought her pretty. Her face began to burn, her bosom heaved, a

strange sensation that heretofore only her husband had been able to

arouse, came over her. And still his eyes were on hers, caressing,

voluptuous.

At the other end of this room the game of bridge was still in progress.

Ray was winning, as usual, and amusing the men with her wit and

vivaciousness. Mr. Steell had glanced over in their direction several

times, and he saw enough to convince him that the attentions of the

fencing master were unwelcome to their hostess. Had he caught Helen's

eye, had she made the slightest sign that she was being annoyed, he

would have instantly left the game and gone over to the window, if only

to break up the tête-à-tête, but she did not once look up. Suddenly he

remembered what had been suggested on the boat. It was an idea. Ray

at that moment got up to get some tea, and, profiting by the

opportunity, the lawyer leaned over and whispered:

"Say, Dick, you see that chap over there."

The young man looked up.

"Who--the signor?"

"Yes. What do you know about him?"

"Nothing good--although nothing very bad for that matter. He's a dark

horse--keeps pretty much to himself. He's well known in the gay

resorts, in the gambling houses and where they play the ponies."

"What's his reputation?"

"He's known as a liberal spender. He's always flashing big rolls of

money----"

"Where does he get it--not from the fencing school?"

"No--that's only a blind."

The lawyer lowered his voice.

"Dick, my boy, that fellow will bear watching, and you're the man to do

it."

"You want him shadowed?"

"Yes--find out where he goes, who he knows. My opinion is that he

belongs to an international band of crooks--possibly counterfeiters,

smugglers, or blackmailers. If you land him behind the bars you'll

deserve well of your country."

Dick glanced once or twice in the direction of the object of their

conversation, who, quite unconscious of their scrutiny, was still

talking earnestly to Helen. The young man smiled, his chest expanded

with satisfaction, and grimly he said:

"Leave him to me."

Quite unconscious of the attention he attracted, the Italian turned to

Helen.

"You miss your husband very much?"

"Yes--terribly."

"It must be lonely for you."

"It is," she sighed.

"Yet you have your sister."

"Can a sister replace a husband?"

He gave a low, musical laugh.

"No--not a sister. A lover is preferable."

Quickly she retorted:

"My husband is my lover---my lover is my husband."

He laughed, as he said:

"It sounds very pretty, but you must admit that it is rather banal."

"In what way?"

He flecked the ash from his cigar.

"You are too pretty, too charming a woman to be commonplace. Really it

spoils you----"

Ignoring his compliments, she persisted.

"Do you mean I am commonplace because I call Kenneth my lover. What

other lover should I or any other woman happily married have? I am

faithful to him--he is loyal to me."

He gave a little mocking laugh, and was silent. How she hated him for

that laugh! After a pause he said quietly and suggestively:

"I am sure you are faithful to him----"

For a moment she looked at him without speaking, eager to resent the

implied imputation on her husband, yet unwilling to give the slanderer

the satisfaction of seeing that his thrust had carried home.

Concealing as best she could her growing irritation, she said calmly:

"Don't you suppose _he_ also is faithful to me?"

Again that horrible, cynical smile. Fixing her with his piercing dark

eyes, and, in a manner, the significance of which could not escape her,

he said:

"Don't seek to know too much, Madam. To paraphrase a famous saying:

'It's a wise woman who knows her own husband.'"

Coloring with anger, she said:

"You mean----"

"Just what I say--that a woman, a wife cannot possibly be sure of her

husband's fidelity. Think how different are the conditions. The wife,

no matter if her temperament be warm or cold, is always at home,

surrounded by prying eyes, rarely beset by temptation. The husband is

often away, he goes on business journeys that free him temporarily from

the chains which keep him in good behavior. If he is good looking, the

women look at him, flirt with him. It is inevitable. The chances are

that he succumbs to the first adventure--no matter how exemplary a

husband he may be at home. If he is a man--of unusual character, he

passes through the fire unscathed; if he is--just a man, he is

attracted to the candle like the proverbial moth and sometimes singes

his wings----"

She looked at him keenly for a moment as if trying to read on his

sphinx-like face if he knew more about Kenneth than he admitted, and

then with forced calmness she said:

"In your opinion, Signor Keralio--is my husband a man--of unusual

character, or is he--just a man?"

The Italian shrugged his shoulders as he replied deprecatingly:

"My dear madam, just stop and think a moment. Isn't that a rather

indiscreet question to put to a man--a man who is a friend of your

husband----"

Hotly she turned on him.

"If you are his friend, why do you vilify and slander him behind his

back?"

Keralio lifted up his long slender hands in pious protest.

"I vilify--my best friend---- Oh, my dear Mrs. Traynor--you have quite

misunderstood me. I am a foreigner. Perhaps it is that I express

myself ill."

She shook her head skeptically. Firmly she said:

"No, Signor Keralio--you express yourself quite plainly. Now, I'll be

equally frank with you. I confess there is one thing I do not

understand. I have never understood it. I do not understand why my

husband, a man so honorable, so straightforward in his dealings, a man

so free from intrigue or reckless adventures, so regular, methodical

and temperate in his habits, a man so entirely apart from the reckless,

immoral kind of life you hint at, should have made a friend of

_you_----"

The Italian raised his eyebrows, but there was only an amused smile on

his bloodless lips as he said with a mock bow:

"Thank you, madam. You are very flattering."

"No--I mean it. I don't want to seem unkind, but your temperament and

my husband's are as wide apart as the poles."

He opened wide his eyes as he asked,

"In what particular, _s'il vous plait_?"

"Kenneth is frank, outspoken. He is not the type of man who takes rash

risks. He is very conservative, scrupulously honest. He has fine

ideals. While you----"

He laughed loudly.

"I? I am secretive, cunning, reckless, materialistic--is that it,

madam?"

"I did not say so, but since you draw your portrait so well----"

He bit his lip. This girl with the flaxen hair and large lustrous eyes

was more than a match for him in a battle of wits. He was making no

headway at all. It was time to play his trump card. Softly he said:

"You said your husband was judicious, conservative----"

"So he is."

"That is a matter of opinion. Some might think otherwise. Of course,

it is difficult for a woman when she is blinded by love----"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that your husband is far from being the conservative,

afraid-to-take-risks type of man you picture him. You women think you

know your husbands. You know only such part of them as they themselves

care to reveal. Perhaps if you knew to what extent your husband was

involved in Wall Street, it would surprise you! Oh, everything is

perfectly regular, of course. As treasurer of the Americo-African

Mining Company, he has at his disposal large sums of money. He is also

trustee of several large and valuable estates. All of this money he is

supposed to invest--conservatively. He certainly invests it. Whether

conservatively or not, I leave others to judge."

"Do you mean that he is using other people's money in Wall Street?"

"I mean, my dear lady, that he has the get-rich-quick fever. He has a

rage for stock gambling--he is already heavily involved. I have often

warned him to go slower, to be more prudent, but he won't heed my

counsel. You know, he is very headstrong--your husband. As long as

everything goes well he is all right. If anything goes wrong, he might

find himself in an unpleasant predicament. Hasn't he spoken to you of

these matters? Why should he worry you? It is as I told you.

Husbands don't tell their wives everything--God forbid!"

Helen raised her hand. There was the ring of scorn in her voice as she

exclaimed:

"Don't blaspheme, Signor Keralio. It sounds incongruous to hear the

name of the Almighty on the lips of a man of your opinions and tastes.

You think you live, but you don't. You go through life, seeking only

to gratify your appetites, attracted only by material sensual

pleasures. You ignore the best part of life--the pursuit of an ideal,

a noble ambition, unselfishness, self-sacrifice. Really, Signor, I

pity you--with all my heart."

He made no answer, but sat in silence watching her. Presently he said:

"Mrs. Traynor--do you know that you are an extraordinary woman?"

"In what way?" she demanded, elevating her eyebrows in surprise.

"You are either the cleverest or the most unsophisticated woman I have

ever met. You are attractive enough to send a saint to perdition, yet

you are quite indifferent to the power of your beauty and the tumult it

arouses in the men who chance to cross your path. You seem to be

absolutely without feeling. Yet I don't believe you devoid of

temperament. I think I know women. I have met a good many. You do

not belong to the type of cold, passionless women."

Again his eyes sought hers and found them. Again she tried to avoid

his gaze and could not. There was something in his manner, his

gestures, the tone of his voice, that conveyed to her more his real

meaning than his actual words, yet, to her surprise, she was not

aroused to anger. Sure of herself, she found herself listening,

wondering what he would say next, ready to flee at the first warning of

peril, but playing a dangerous game like the moth in the flame. As she

sat back on the sofa, her head in the sofa cushions, he leaned nearer

to her, and in those low, musical tones which held her under a kind of

spell, he murmured:

"You are the cleverest woman I ever met."

She smiled in spite of herself, and he, mistaking the motive, thought

she intended it as an encouragement. He glanced round to see if anyone

was watching them, but Mr. Parker was peacefully dozing in a deep

armchair a dozen yards away, and at the far end of the room Ray, Steell

and Reynolds were engrossed in an exciting game of cards. Leaning

quickly over, he seized her hand. His voice vibrating with passion, he

said:

"Not only the cleverest, but the most desirable of women. Don't you

see that you've set me afire? I'm mad for you! Helen--I want you!"

For a moment she was too stunned by his insolent daring to withdraw her

hand, which he continued to press in his. His eyes flashing, he went

on:

"Haven't you seen all along that I love you--desperately, passionately.

You've set me afire. I'm mad for you. Let me awaken that love that's

in your breast, but which your husband has never awakened. Let me----"

He did not finish, for that moment a small, jeweled hand, suddenly torn

from his grasp, struck him full on the mouth. Rising and trying with

difficulty to control the emotion in her voice, she said quickly:

"You'd better go now--so as to prevent a scandal. If they knew, it

might be awkward for you. Of course, you must never come here again."

That was all. She swept away from him with the dignity of an offended

queen. The silence was deadly. All one heard was the silk rustle of

her gown as she moved across the floor.

"It's my say," exclaimed Ray.

"I lead with trumps," said Steell.

"Signor Keralio has to go. Isn't it too bad!"

Mr. Steell and Dick rose and bowed politely.

There was nothing to be done. He was ignominiously dismissed like a

lackey caught pilfering. But there was black wrath in his heart as he

picked himself up, and turning to the others, he bowed and said:

"Good night."