"Oh, it's nothing to be alarmed at. Only she's growing fast, and needs all the air possible. I'm thinking of sending her to Aunt Carrie for a while. You know she has a beautiful place in the suburbs of Philadelphia. She would be out in the air all the time."
"Yes—that's a good idea. Send her there by all means. Write your aunt to-night."
Helen glanced at the clock. There wasn't any time to lose. Turning to her husband she said quickly:
"You had better come upstairs and finish your packing, dear. Your trunks aren't nearly ready and the expressman was ordered for three."
Recalled thus abruptly to the day's duties, he turned docily and followed her upstairs.
Beautiful as was the Traynor home below, it was in the library in the second floor that Helen always felt happiest and most at ease. Up the broad, thickly carpeted stairs and turning to the right as the landing was reached, they entered the library, a room of truly noble proportions extending the entire width of the house and with deep recessed windows and low seats, overlooking the park. The furnishings, though simple, were rich and luxurious. The woodwork was of black Flemish oak, the ceiling beamed with a dull red background. The upholstery was a rich red plush throughout, with deep seated armchairs, and sofas built close to the wall wherever space permitted. In the corners, numerous electric reading lamps could be turned on or off at pleasure, constituting ideal nooks for reading. The furniture, apart from the red plush armchairs, was of black Flemish oak to match the woodwork, with an immense richly carved black oak dark table in the center of the room, lighted by an electrolier of similar size and design to the one in the dining-room.
It was in this room with its atmosphere of books so conducive to peace and introspection that Helen loved to spend her spare time. The walls were literally lined with tomes, dealing with every branch of human knowledge—religion, science, philosophy, literature. Here when alone she enjoyed many an intellectual treat, browsing among the world's treasures of the mind. Even when her sister had a few intimates to tea, or when friends dropped in in the evening, they always preferred being in the library to anywhere else.
Only second to the library in the affection of its young mistress was her bed chamber with which it was connected by a small boudoir. Furnished in Louis XVI. style, it was a beautiful room, decorated in the most dainty and delicate of tones. The bed, copied after Marie Antoinette's couch in the Little Trianon was in sculptured Circassian walnut, upholstered in dull pink brocade, the broad canopy overhead being upheld by two flying cupids. The handsome dressing table with three mirrors and chairs were of the same wood and period. On the floor was a thick carpet especially woven to match the other furnishings.
To-day, littered as it was with trunks and clothes, the room lacked its usual sedateness and dignity, but Helen did not mind. She would have preferred it to look far worse if only her loved one were not going away. His clothes lay scattered all over the floor. There was still much to be done.
Kenneth himself realized it as he ruefully surveyed the scene. Hurry he must. A director's meeting to-night, the steamer sailing to-morrow and here he was not nearly ready. Helen could see no reason why François should not do the packing, but he insisted on doing it himself, and was soon deep in the work of filling the trunks that stood around.