attracted him
physically.

He realized it now as he held her tight against his breast. Her head
had fallen on his shoulder. Her face with its pale, delicate profile
was turned toward him, the eyes half closed. The mouth, arched like
Cupid's bow and partly open, disclosing the white, moistened teeth, and
red and luscious like some rare exotic fruit, was tempting enough to
madden a saint. Kenneth was only human. Unable to resist, he lowered
his head until his mouth grazed hers and then with a wild, almost
savage exclamation of joy, the exultant cry of lust awakened and
gratified, his lips met hers and lingered.

To Helen it seemed as though she was in a dream of untold ecstasy.
Always a shrinking, modest girl, especially in the company of the
opposite sex, in any calmer moment she would have been shocked beyond
expression at this momentary abandonment she permitted herself. As she
lay in this man's arms and felt his warm kisses on her lips, there came
over her a strange sensation she had never known before. She grew
dizzy and for a moment thought she would faint. All at once he
released her. Almost apologetically, he murmured:

"Forgive me--I lost control over myself--I want you Helen--I want you
for my wife. Will you marry me?"

She drew away and turned away her head, so he might not see her burning
cheeks.

He persisted.

"Will you marry me?"

She hesitated a moment before replying. Then, very simply, she
answered:

"Yes, Kenneth."

That was three years ago.

CHAPTER II

In a certain set Helen Traynor was not popular. Some people thought
her old fashioned, strait-laced, prudish. They resented her having no
taste for their frivolous, decadent amusements. They called her proud
and condescending whereas, as a matter of fact, she merely asked to be
let alone. Of course, it was only people whose opinions were worthless
that criticized her. All who were admitted to her intimacy knew that
there was no friend more loyal, no woman more womanly and charming.

In one respect she might be called old fashioned. Her views on life
had certainly little in common with those held by most present-day
women. She had no taste for bridge, she refused to adopt freak
fashions in dress, she discouraged the looseness of tone in speech and
manner so much affected by other women of her acquaintance--in a word
she was in society but not of it. Naturally, she had more
acquaintances than friends, yet she was