Part 21 (1/2)

CHAPTER X

Eagerly, breathlessly, Helen tore open the cablegram.

It was late Sat.u.r.day afternoon and she had been with Ray and Mr. Steell to see some paintings--a private view of a remarkable collection of old masters. After having tea at the Plaza they had taken a brisk walk through the Park, the lawyer insisting that the exercise would do them good.

”It's just come, m'm,” said the maid, holding out the thin envelope.

”Oh, it's from Kenneth!” exclaimed Ray excitedly, throwing down her m.u.f.f and running to look over her sister's shoulder.

For long, dreary weeks Helen had expected, and waited for, this message, and now it had come, she was almost afraid to read it. There were only a few words, cold and formal, the usual matter-of-fact, businesslike phraseology of the so-much-a-word telegram:

CAPE TOWN, Thursday (delay in transmission). Sail to-day on the _Abyssinia_. All's well. KEN.

”Is that all?” exclaimed Ray, disappointed.

Mr. Steell laughed.

”How much more do you expect at $2 a word?”

”Well, he might be a little more explicit,” pouted Ray. ”If I were his wife, that wouldn't satisfy me.”

Helen laughed lightly. Her eyes sparkling, her usually pale cheeks filled with a ruddy color from her walk in the park, the lawyer thought he had never seen her looking so pretty.

”It satisfies me,” she said, her face all lit up with joyous excitement. ”All I want to know is that he is safe and on his way home. The cablegram is dated Thursday. Then he's already on the water three days! I wonder why we didn't hear before?”

Mr. Steell glanced over her shoulder.

”The dispatch has been delayed. Don't you see? It says, 'delayed in transmission.'”

Helen turned round, her face radiant.

”When ought he to get here?”

The lawyer was silent for a moment as if calculating. Then, looking up, he said:

”The _Abyssinia_ is not a very fast boat. I suppose she is the best he could get. She's due at Southampton two weeks from to-day. A week after that, he ought to be in New York--providing nothing happens.”

Helen, who was still reading and re-reading the cablegram, looked up quickly. With a note of alarm in her voice, she exclaimed:

”Providing nothing happens! What could happen?”

”Oh, nothing serious, of course. In these days of the wireless nothing ever happens to steamers. One is safer traveling on the sea than on land. I didn't mean anything serious, but merely that sometimes boats are delayed by bad weather or by fog. That prevents them arriving on schedule time.”

Almost three months had slipped by since Kenneth's departure from New York. To Helen it had seemed so many years. She had tried to be contented and happy for Ray's sake. She entertained a good deal, giving dinner and theater parties, keeping open house, playing graciously the role of chatelaine in the absence of her lord, to all outward appearances as gay and light-hearted as ever. Only Ray and her immediate friends knew that the gayety was forced.

The poison had done its deadly work. The few words uttered by Signor Keralio that afternoon shortly after her husband's departure had burnt deep into her mind like letters of fire. Well she guessed the object of the wily Italian in speaking as he did. It availed him nothing, and she only despised him the more. It was cowardly, contemptible, and, from such a source, absolutely unworthy of belief. Yet secretly it worried her just the same. She had always considered Kenneth's life an open book. She thought she knew his every action, his every thought.

The mere suggestion that her husband might have other interests, other attachments of which she knew nothing took her so by surprise that she was disarmed, powerless to answer. The innuendo that he might be unfaithful had gone through her heart like a knife. Of course it was quite ridiculous. He was not that kind of man. It was true he had often gone away on trips that seemed unnecessary, and now she came to think of it Kenneth's absences had of late been both frequent and mysterious. Then, too, she had no idea of the extent of his operations in Wall Street. She knew he bought and sold stocks sometimes. That is only what every investor does. But it was incredible that he was involved to the extent Keralio said he was. She knew he was ambitious to acquire wealth, but that he would take such fearful risks and jeopardize funds which, after all, belonged, not to him, but to the stockholders--that was impossible. It was a horrible libel.

Still another cause for worry was the health of her little daughter, Dorothy. Nothing ailed the child particularly, but she was not well.