The Comtesse laughed heartily. “But your sister—how old is she and what is her name?”
“Ruth is just twenty; she is named after her aunt, my mother’s sister.”
“What a beautiful name—Ruth! I have heard that your country loves the Bible names. Is she fair?”
“No, Ruth is quite a brunette. Father is dark—Ruth favors him.”
“And when do you expect to see your family again, Mr. Morton?”
“I expect to be in New York toward the beginning of December. I had some disquieting cables about my father’s health—you know I haven’t been home in almost two years. He isn’t old, but he has worked hard all his life. I should have been home earlier, but—but for some things that had turned up unexpectedly,” he concluded rather lamely.
The girl grew thoughtful; she guessed to what he referred. She began to realize what a sacrifice it had been for him. What could she say? Dared she speak her thoughts? With blood mantling to her cheek and brow, she remained silent.
“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Helène!”
“We have no pennies in Roumelia, we call them ‘banu.’ And I don’t think they are worth even a penny.”
“I will take my chances on their value.”