uld not be
here. Knowing he is safe I am convinced that they are safe."

"Will you wait here until he comes?"

"No, I can't. There's a meeting of the directors this afternoon. I
must attend. I'll call him up on the telephone----"

"But you are coming to dinner this evening----"

"Yes, yes, of course." With a smile he added: "Now, don't get too
spoony when he comes, or else Ken will have no head for business."

"No fear," laughed Helen. "We are too long married for that."

"Well, good-bye. I'll see you later."

The president took his hat and turned to go. As he reached the door he
turned round.

"By the bye, have you seen Signor Keralio lately?"

Helen's face grew more serious.

"No--Signor Keralio does not call here any more-at my request."

The president gave a low, expressive whistle. Holding out his hand he
said:

"Got his walking papers, eh? Well, I guess if you don't like him he
isn't much good. I never did care for the look of him."

"Why did you ask?" she inquired.

"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 Francois, the French valet.

Helen fell back in dismay.

"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed, looking