"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 rôle 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. The doctor said nothing was the matter, but a slight temperature persisted, together with a cough which, naturally, alarmed the young mother out of all proportion to the seriousness of the case. The doctor also advised a change of air, so Helen at once made arrangements to send her little daughter to Philadelphia, where, in Aunt Carrie's beautiful house, she would have the best air and attention in the world. Aunt Carrie came to New York to fetch the child, and, as she stayed a couple of weeks sight-seeing and visiting friends that also helped to keep Helen busy.
"I do wish that I didn't have such a worrying disposition"—she laughed nervously after the lawyer had been at some pains to assure her about the sea-worthiness of the Abyssinia. "Really, it makes me so unhappy, but I simply can't help it. The other day it was baby who made me terribly anxious; now it is Kenneth's home-coming. I must seem very foolish to you all."
Ray quickly protested.
"You sweet thing—how could you look foolish? What an idea! Only please don't worry, dear. I never do."
Mr. Steell nodded sympathetically.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs. Traynor. It shows you have a fine, sensitive nature. It is only the grosser natures that are callous and unaffected by the anxieties of life."