CHAPTER IX.
On the second morning after the crown prince’s abduction, Gerald Strong and his family formed themselves at breakfast into what Ned called “a committee of the whole on the Szalaki matter.”
“I received a cable despatch late yesterday afternoon, dated at Rexopolis, and signed by our Vienna agent,” remarked Strong the elder, glancing rather shamefacedly at Kate. “It ran as follows: ‘Szalaki common name. No nobility.’ I begin to fear that your mother and I were too easily affected by pleasing manners and a handsome face.”
“The thing looks queer,” exclaimed Ned, emphatically. “When I drove up to the hotel yesterday before noon a curious feeling came over me that I would not find the count. When I asked for him at the desk, a peculiar expression rested on the clerk’s face, and he looked at me suspiciously. When I had given him my name, he seemed to feel more confidence in me, for he told me that Count Szalaki had not returned to the hotel the night before. About an hour before I reached there yesterday morning a man had given the clerk a note from Count Szalaki, enclosing the amount of his bill and directing the hotel people to put all his belongings in the care of the bearer. The man looked like a foreigner. The clerk carefully compared the count’s signature on the note with his name on the hotel register, and became satisfied that they were penned by the same hand. There was nothing for him to do, of course, but to obey the orders contained in the note. I tell you, father, it looks queer.”
Kate Strong had said nothing after seating herself at the table, but her face showed that she was intensely interested in the conversation going on between her father and her brother. Her cheeks were paler than usual, and dark shadows rested beneath her eyes. She ate nothing, and sipped her coffee languidly. Ned’s emphatic insistence on the “queerness” of the whole affair seemed to annoy her, for she exclaimed, a slight tinge of red appearing in her face:
“I don’t believe, Ned, that Count Szalaki is a fraud. It’s strange, of course, that he sent me no word of apology for not keeping his engagement; but, somehow, I feel sure that there is an adequate explanation for his silence.”
“But you forget your father’s cable despatch, Kate,” remarked Mrs. Strong, coldly. She suffered intensely at the idea that her boasted knowledge of human nature had been insufficient to protect the family from an impostor.
“Well, well,” exclaimed Gerald Strong, rather testily, as he motioned to the butler to hand him a morning newspaper, “no great harm is done even if Count Szalaki is not what he appeared to be. If he is an adventurer, we certainly got off very cheaply.”
Kate Strong did not wholly agree with her father in this conclusion. She was dissatisfied with herself, and weary for the moment, of her environment. Whatever Count Szalaki might be—confidence man, rolling stone, conspirator, or what not—she felt that he had played a more important rôle in her eyes than either he or her family realized. How could Count Szalaki or her people know that this self-contained, worldly-wise, seemingly unimpressionable New York girl, who had been flattered and petted and obeyed since her nursery days, had found in the Rexanian the incarnation of her secret dreams of romance? How could they realize that the very mystery that placed him beyond the pale of Gerald Strong’s consideration had but added to the fascination that his memory exerted over the girl? Kate was not by temperament a sickly sentimental woman, but she was not yet too old or world-worn to dream wild, sweet dreams, and to long for the day when out of the shadowland of commonplace would come a royal youth who would lead her up to the sun-kissed palace of love and mystery that crowns the distant mountain-top. She had seen Count Szalaki but once, but in the beauty of his face and the soft, almost caressing accent of his voice she had found reason for the hope that her dreams might not be mockeries, that in the land of reality there might be a prince who, kissing the lips of the sleeping maiden, would awaken her to a life that should satisfy the longings of her weary soul. All this she hardly dared to admit to herself, but she was honest enough in her self-communion to acknowledge that Count Szalaki appealed to her imagination as no man heretofore had touched it. It hurt her pride to feel that her parents and brother had relegated this visitor from her land of dreams to the limbo in which honest people placed impostors. As she mused silently on the accusing fact that had been brought to her notice regarding the youth who fulfilled in so many details her ideal, an exclamation of surprise from her father aroused her from her revery.