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In a few moments the young count was leaning gracefully against the mantelpiece. He was talking with the beautiful stranger, whose name was still withheld from her visitors. A little later Monsieur Duval joined them.
“Oh, yes, I hasten to assure you, it is quite, quite old,” the count explained. He was talking of his family in Brittany.
“How far back does your family go?” went on his unknown questioner.
The count cleared his throat and choked over his fresh cup of tea.
“My friend’s family goes back to the eleventh century,” answered Duval quietly. The count was still coughing violently.
“And you are the last of your line?” continued his hostess. She was addressing the count. “It is a pity for such an illustrious race to die out. I suppose you will marry?”
She looked at the young man with such grave sweetness that he smiled uneasily and shifted his gaze.
“I hope to marry some day, Mademoiselle,” he mumbled.
“You have some very old families in Germany also, have you not?” inquired Monsieur Duval, looking searchingly at the young woman.
Did she pause a moment before she answered? Bab and Ruth both thought so.
“In what European country are there not old families, Monsieur?” she replied courteously. “In Italy the old families trace their lineage to the gods of mythology. But I am interested in a young country like this America.”
“Then you should go to Chicago, if you wish to see a really American city,” cried Ruth. “Of course, Aunt Sallie and Father and I think our Chicago is greater than New York, because it is our home.”
“De Lancey Hall, in Virginia, is my family home,” drawled Mrs. De Lancey Smythe, with a little insolent air of pride. “The De Lanceys were a titled French family before they came to this country.”
“How very interesting!” exclaimed the youthful hostess, in an enigmatic tone. “Do people drop their titles in this great free country of yours? It is much better, I think. Titles mean but little anywhere.” She ended her words with a little, serious frown.
“The best heritage that I can lay claim to is that of being an American,” exclaimed Ruth, with enthusiasm. “America for the Americans! Three cheers for the red, white and blue!”
“You are a true patriot. Is it not so?” laughed the hostess, patting Ruth’s shoulder. “Your great free country is so wonderful. Its liberty is boundless.” She sighed, and for a moment seemed wrapped in thought. Then turning to Mr. Stuart and Mr. Warren asked if they would have more tea.
“No thank you,” replied Mr. Stuart. “In fact I believe we had better begin to think about getting back to our hotel. The rain has stopped, and we need trespass upon your hospitality no further.”
“It has been a pleasure to meet you and your ‘Automobile Girls,’” the young woman replied. Then she added very softly so that Mr. Stuart and Mollie who stood with her hand clasped in that of the stranger, alone, heard: “Won’t you bring them to see me in the near future?”
“Oh how lovely!” breathed Mollie.
“We shall be very happy, indeed to come,” Mr. Stuart replied.
“I thank you for your charming hospitality, Mademoiselle,” broke in the suave tones of Mr. Duval, who with the count at his heels had stepped unnoticed to the young woman’s side. “Am I presumptuous in venturing to ask if it is your pleasure that we should know to whom we are indebted?”
“Ah to be sure. I have been what you call, very stupid,” laughed the unknown. “Pray pardon me.” Gliding over to the side of the stern old woman, she took her hand. “Permit me to present my very dear friend, Madame de Villiers. I am the Countess Sophia von Stolberg.”
CHAPTER IV
THE COMPACT
“Girls!” exclaimed Ruth, who lay curled up on the foot of her bed in a pale blue silk kimono. “I feel like offering a libation to the Storm King to-night for sending us that squall.”
“Why?” inquired Grace, who was not gifted with an Oriental imagination.
“Because, if there had been no storm, there would have been no Countess Sophia,” replied her friend.
“She is hard to understand, but she is so beautiful, so gentle and so noble,” observed Barbara.
“And she kissed me!” cried Mollie.
“As, yes, Mollie darling, she had a fearful crush on you,” laughed Ruth. “We are already green with jealousy. It’s those golden baby curls of yours that do the business, I suppose. First, it was the lovely Mrs. Cartwright you won from us at Newport. Now your cerulean eyes have hypnotized the Countess Sophia. What shall we do to her, girls?”
“Destroy her beauty!” cried Barbara. “Cut off her curls and give her two black eyes.”
The three girls pounced on Mollie. There was a real tom-boy romp which ended in a burst of joyous laughter. For Miss Sallie’s familiar rap-tap was heard on the door. Her voice was raised in mild protest:
“Children, remember that this is a hotel.”
The girls subsided.
“Do you suppose it would be good form to call on the countess to-morrow, when we met her only this afternoon?” asked Ruth, as soon as she had regained her breath.
“It would be rather rushing things,” answered Barbara.
“If you will be good, and promise not to lay violent hands on me again, I will tell you something,” Mollie volunteered.
“We promise,” cried three voices in unison.
“The countess is going to ask us to luncheon to-morrow. She whispered it to me just before we left her villa this afternoon.”
“Oh, joy!” exclaimed Ruth. “Do you mean that she intends to invite the entire party – the De Lancey Smythes and all that aggregation?”
“No,” Mollie declared, answering Ruth’s previous question. “The countess intends to invite only Miss Sallie, Mr. Stuart and the ‘Automobile Girls.’”
“But what are we to do about Maud Warren?” queried Ruth. “Father has promised Mr. Warren we would help him out with Maud. Here we are already trying to shake her off. If we are going to see a great deal of the countess, how shall we manage? I am sure the stern old dowager would never endure Maud’s grown up manner for a moment. And Maud won’t give up those De Lancey Smythes.”
“I think it would be a good idea to take the Countess Sophia into our confidence, if we have an opportunity,” suggested Barbara. “It would not be a betrayal of trust. Because what we wish to accomplish is to persuade Maud Warren to see the difference between really well-bred people like the countess and those who pretend to be. I think the Smythes are pretenders, the mother at least. She seems to be continually on the alert. I watched her yesterday, and that high and mighty air that she assumes is a cloak to hide her real character. It seems to me that she and that Duval man have some sort of secret understanding. I think – ” Barbara paused.
“Well, Sherlock, what do you think?” queried Ruth impertinently. “And when you unearth her family skeleton may I go along and play Doctor Watson?”
“How ridiculous you are, Ruth,” returned Barbara, laughing. “I suppose I deserve to be teased. I’m always suspecting people’s motives. But really I do believe that that Mrs. Smythe has a hurtful influence over Maud. Mr. Warren doesn’t like to have Maud with her, either. You heard the way he spoke this morning.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Ruth. “We also heard Miss Maud defy him. She is dreadfully spoiled, and we shall be obliged to handle her very carefully. If she even suspects we are trying to reform her, she will shun our beneficial society as she would the plague.”
“I believe I could bear that misfortune,” sighed Mollie.
But Barbara was serious. “I am truly sorry for Maud Warren,” she declared. “I think she is just like a blind person. She can’t see anything that is good and true. She thinks of nothing but money, titles and sham society. I don’t see how we can do her any good.”
“Well, her father thinks we can,” Grace added. “He told me on our way back from the launch party, that he hoped we would be friends with Maud, for she needed the companionship of sensible girls. He said that he hoped she would take more interest in outdoor sports, and drop some of the newfangled society ideas she has adopted.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” said Barbara slowly. “I think that Maud was impressed with the Count de Sonde, or rather his title.”
“And the count seemed to be equally impressed with Maud,” interposed Ruth. “I believe he is one of those foreigners with no money, and plenty of title that one reads about in the Sunday papers.”
“Some of them don’t have even the title,” said Mollie with a worldly air that contrasted oddly with her baby face. “They are just waiters who pretend that they are real counts.”
“Hear, hear,” cried Ruth, “Mollie the worldly wise is holding forth!”
“Well, you needn’t make fun of me, Ruth,” said Mollie stoutly. “It’s all true. I read about one last week who married a rich American girl. She fell in love with his title. After she had married him she found out that his name was Jean, something or other, that he had been a waiter, and was wanted by the police for forgery. Just think girls how dreadfully she must have felt!”
“I should say so,” averred Grace, who always championed Mollie’s cause.
“What’s your opinion of the Count de Sonde, Barbara?” asked Ruth.
“He didn’t impress me favorably,” replied Bab. “He’s too artificial, and too conceited. He reminds me of a comic opera Frenchman. He looks as though he were ready to run about on his toes and shrug his shoulders at the slightest pretext.”
“That exactly describes him,” Ruth agreed. “I imagine him trilling a silly French song:
“‘Bonjour, mesdames! bonjour, messieurs!
Je suis le Comte de Sonde!’”
Ruth bowed low, first to Mollie and then to Grace. She shrugged her dainty shoulders in a perfect imitation of the count.
“But what about Monsieur Duval?” queried Mollie.
“He’s the backbone of the little count,” said Barbara. “He’s the brains and strength of the company. If there is any little game to be played at Palm Beach – look out for Mr. Duval!”
“But do you suppose they really have a game to play?” persisted Ruth.
Bab shook her head. “I don’t know. I suppose I am only joking,” she answered. “But did you notice how often Mr. Duval came to the count’s rescue? He helped him out of a number of tight places. Of course it is ridiculous to suppose those men have any scheme afoot. They are certainly not thieves, like Harry Townsend at Newport. I wonder what they are after?”
“Oh, nothing, Bab. You are too mysterious,” protested Mollie. “I thought we were talking about Maud Warren and how we could best make friends with her.”
“Girls, let’s enter into a solemn compact,” Ruth suggested, lowering her voice to a whisper in order to persuade the other girls to listen.
“What kind of compact, child?” Bab demanded.
“A compact to do our best for Maud Warren,” said conscientious Ruth. “I tell you, girls, it won’t be easy, for Maud isn’t our kind. And you know how we like to keep together and don’t care much for any outside girl. I know we shall have to make a good many sacrifices. But Maud must not run around with the Smythes and that little French count all the time. Let’s make a compact to do our best for Maud. Come, join hands.”
The four girls clasped hands. They could not foresee into what difficulties this compact would lead them.
Tap! tap! Miss Sallie knocked again at the door.
“Go to bed at once; it is very late,” she ordered.
Ruth dreamed that night that the four girls were sitting in a circle with the Countess Sophia von Stolberg. They had hold of one another’s hands. They were repeating their vow about Maud. Suddenly they were interrupted. Monsieur Duval appeared in their midst. The Countess Sophia saw the Frenchman. She gave a cry of terror and fainted.
Ruth awakened with a start. The night was still. The moon shone brightly through the open windows and the air was filled with the perfume of magnolia blossoms.
“I wonder what the Countess Sophia’s history is?” thought Ruth sleepily, as she dropped into slumber once more.
At her villa, looking across the moonlit lake, the beautiful young countess was at that moment writing a letter. It was a long letter, penned in close fine handwriting. When she had finished she slipped the letter into an envelope, which she addressed carefully to “M. Le Comte Frederic de Sonde.”
CHAPTER V
THE DAUGHTER OF MRS. DE LANCEY SMYTHE
Breakfast was hardly over next morning before a note on thin foreign paper was handed to Miss Sallie Stuart. She read it aloud: it asked for the pleasure of their company at luncheon. It was signed “Sophia von Stolberg.” The messenger would wait for the answer. Mr. Stuart was included in the invitation.
“There’s only one answer to that note,” laughed Mr. Stuart, scanning the four eager faces of the “Automobile Girls.” “Shall I translate your expressions into a single word? It is ‘yes,’ my hearties.”
“Did you think they would fail to accept?” teased Miss Sallie. “Look at the foolish young things! They have all fallen in love with the countess at first sight, and can hardly wait for one o’clock to arrive. But I will send our acceptance at once, so as not to keep the man waiting.” Miss Stuart hurried off to the writing room of the hotel.
So the girls were alone when they were joined on the piazza by Mrs. De Lancey Smythe and Marian.
“Good morning, my dears,” said Mrs. De Lancey Smythe, with an attempt at affability. “Isn’t it delightful after the storm?”
“Very,” answered Ruth, rather shortly.
“Have you seen dear Maud and her father this morning?” pursued Mrs. Smythe, ignoring Ruth’s lack of cordiality.
“No,” replied Ruth. “Have you?”
“I saw them a few minutes ago, and they were engaged in a family discussion,” replied the older woman. “Such discussions are most disagreeable to me. Marian and I never have them. For some stupid reason, Mr. Warren is opposed to his daughter’s receiving attentions from the Count de Sonde. I have assured him that I know the count well. He belongs to an old and illustrious family. But tell me, what is your opinion of the Countess Sophia von Stolberg? Do you think she is an impostor?”
“An impostor!” exclaimed Ruth indignantly. “I think she is simply perfect. I never met any one in my life who impressed me so much.”
“Beware, my dear, that your feelings do not run away with you,” warned Mrs. De Lancey Smythe with asperity. “I have heard rumors, since I saw you last night. There are suspicious circumstances connected with this countess. She may very possibly be an impostor.”
“Who told you such a dreadful falsehood?” demanded Ruth. She was almost choking with anger. But Barbara had joined her. Bab’s firm fingers on Ruth’s arm warned her to be careful.
“The man who told me is in a position to know the truth. He is a clever man of the world, a foreigner himself,” replied Mrs. Smythe triumphantly.
“I am afraid I cannot credit his story,” replied Ruth, with more composure. “I cannot forget that we accepted the countess’s hospitality yesterday and we are to have the pleasure of accepting more of it to-day. My father and Aunt Sallie, and we four girls, are to have luncheon with the Countess von Stolberg and Madame de Villiers.”
Ruth drew Barbara’s arm through hers. They moved away from Mrs. De Lancey Smythe.
But Mrs. De Lancey Smythe had said her say and left a sting, and she smiled maliciously as the two girls walked away.
“I can’t endure that woman, Barbara,” exclaimed Ruth. “I’ll lose my head completely if she attacks our beautiful countess again.”
“She is too disagreeable to notice,” answered Bab vehemently. “Here comes Maud Warren. Shall we ask her to take a walk with us along the Beach?”
“I suppose so,” assented Ruth, whose enthusiasm had somewhat cooled over night. “I don’t want her. But we ought to be polite.”
The two girls greeted Maud Warren cordially. There was a discontented line across that young woman’s brow, and an angry look in her pale blue eyes.
“I am looking for the count,” she declared defiantly.
The girls instinctively knew that Maud was disobeying her father. Mr. Warren had just finished lecturing Maud and had commanded that she cut the count’s acquaintance.
