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 not unpopular among her intimates. While secretly they laughed at what they termed her puritanical notions, they were shrewd enough to realize that they could hardly afford to snub a woman whose husband occupied so prominent a position in the world of affairs. Besides, was it not to their interest to cultivate her? Who gave more delightful dinners, who could on occasion be a more charming hostess? An accomplished musician, a clever talker, she easily dominated in whatever salon she happened to be, and the men were always found crowding eagerly around her. Like most women of her temperament, sure of themselves and in whose mind never enters even a thought of disloyalty to her marriage vows, she made no concealment of her preference for the masculine sex. With those men who were attracted by her unusual mentality,--she was gracious, and affable, discussing with politicians, jurists, financiers, economic and sociological questions with a brilliancy and insight that fairly astonished them. With literary men and musicians, she chatted intelligently of the latest novels and pictures and operas with the facility and expertness of a connoisseur. Other men, drawn by her exceptional beauty, fascinated by the spell of her soulful eyes, her tall graceful figure, and delicate classic face, framed in Grecian head dress, made violent love to her, their heated imaginations and jaded senses conceiving a conquest compared with which the criminal passion of Paolo for Francesca should pale. These would-be Lotharios might as well have tried to set an iceberg on fire. Quietly, but firmly and in unmistakable terms, she let them understand that they were wasting their time and their ardor thus quenched, one by one they dropped away and left her in peace. Only Signor Keralio had persisted. She had snubbed him, insulted him, time after time, yet wherever she turned she found him at her elbow. Society soon resigned itself to considering her as one apart--a beautiful, chaste Juno whose ideals all must respect.