"I was just curious—that's all. He's a persistent, uncomfortable kind of man. I don't like his face. It's a face I wouldn't trust——"
"That's why he's not coming here any more," she replied calmly. "He forgot himself and that was the end——"
The president turned to go.
"Well, good-bye. Ken will be here soon."
"Good-bye."
He went away, and once more Helen resumed her lonely vigil at the library window, straining her ears to catch the direction of every passing car, catching her breath with suspense as each pedestrian came into view. They could not be much longer. She wondered if he had missed her as much as she had him. No, men do not feel these things in the way women do. They are too busy—their minds too much preoccupied with their work. The turmoil of affairs absorbed their attention.
The clock struck the three-quarters, and the reverberations of the chimes had not entirely died away, when through the partly opened window came the sound of a taxicab suddenly stopping in front of the door.
At last he had come! It was surely Kenneth. Her bosom heaving with suppressed excitement she ran to the stairs and was already in the lower hall before the maid had answered the bell. Quickly she threw open the door, eager to throw herself in the traveler's arms. A tall shadow darkened the doorway. It was François, the French valet.
Helen fell back in dismay.
"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed, looking over his shoulder to see if Kenneth were following. "Where is your master?"