Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1911-08-29
CHAPTER II.
Arthur KENYON.

Full length upon a luxurious SOFA,
in a private parlor Of a fashionable up
town hotel, a man was stretched, the
picture OF indolent ease, at the very
hour of. this unlucky quarrel betwiXt
Robert Greylock and his pretty young
wife.
A pillow of crimson silk embroidered
with gold thread supported the head OF
the lounger. and he held the amber
mouthpiece of q Turkish nargileh be-
tween his lazy lips. 1t was high noon
by the clock, but this darling of for
tune. this gentleman Of wealth and
leisure, had but just partaken OF the
first meal of the day, and was seeking
a little needful rest after the weari-
some eXertion. On a malachite table
beside him stood q silver dish like a
shell, heaped with letters, all with un-
broken seals. over the plate-glass
windows the rich curtains were drawn
to subdue the garish light. The tenn
perature of the room stood at some
thing more than eighty degrees Fan
renheit. and the air was stepped in eX-
quisite French perfumes like the bou-
doir of some court beauty of the old
regime. This atmosphere, most un-
wholesome to healthy lungs, suited Ar
thur Kenyon. From his Spanish creole
mother he had inherited both his
wealth and his tastes. He loved to
bask in sunlight and fire-glow, like a
snake, and to inhale the heavy odors
that reminded him of sultry southern
gardens, burning in the splendors of a
never ending bloom.
In figure, Mr.. Kenyon was long and
lissOme, with a panther-like grace in
all his movements. He was young,
too, almost bOyish-olive-skinn and
straight featured as an Arab, with
slumberous black eyes and an Anti
nous-like head, crowned with night
black curls.
mdolently he lay for a space, and
through half-closed lids watched the
pale-blue smoke rise in delicate spirals
from the nargileh-a mementO of east
ern travel-then he threw down his
pipe, and, turning on the silken sofa
pillow. against the rich hue of which
his face looked like piece of bronze,
he extended one languid hand toward
the malachite table.
What a bore!" he muttered, draw
ing the silver shell and its contents to-
ward himself With a wearied air he
began to read the letters-invitatiOns
to kettledrums and high teas, to din
ners and private balls and recherche
parties, for this wealthy, indOlent
youth, who had just enough of south
crn beauty in his face, and southern
fire and passion in his veins to invest
him with the glamour of romance, was
a great favorite in good society. His
Spanish eyes and languishing airs had
made many a wOmans heart ache.
The silver shell this day held more
than one billet d'amOur, but these the
Indifferent recipient read with a shrug
of his shoulders or n smile of disdain.
Bah. Il surfrit Of sweets" he NUT
tered; "umc soon tires Of this sort Of
thing. 1t grows mOnotonous, and
hate munutony. | call ii deuced bad
form for women to fling themselves
at a fellows head with such painful
drectncss."
He dropped the letters back into the
shell. and, taking up Il little Milanese
mandolin from a tiger-skin rug by his
side. he drew the ivory plectrum softly
across its strings.
Decidedly Spanish and cavalier-like
he looked, as he lolled there on his rich
pillows, with his dark creole face Shin
ing against their deep crimson, and his