At this moment, Ned Strong, a youth a few years older than Kate, entered the room, carefully attired in evening dress.
“I suppose, mamma, that your friend the count will be late. It’s a way those foreigners have. There’s no snap about them: is there, Kate?”
The girl looked up admiringly at her tall, handsome brother, whose manly, vibrant voice indicated an energetic temperament that possessed large dynamic possibilities for good or evil.
“That’s the reason I like them,” she exclaimed, inconsistently. “They don’t seem to feel that they were put into the world to do something. They are clever. They made their ancestors do their work.”
Ned Strong glanced at his mother quizzically.
“I wish,” he said earnestly, “that we could get Kate to have a few firm convictions. What she is in favor of one day she is sure to be opposed to the next. It is so hard to tell what she really thinks.”
Kate smiled amusedly. “Forgive me, Ned,” she implored. “I’m sorry I don’t please you. But I’ll make you a promise. If you are really anxious to know what I think of Count Szalaki, I’ll tell you to-night after he has gone. But here’s papa. He knows more about Count Szalaki than mamma does.”
“Yes, father,” put in Ned, rising as Gerald Strong, a portly, clean-shaven, gray-haired man, entered the drawing-room. “Tell us about the count. Is there anything to him besides his title?”
“Yes, Ned, I think there is,” answered Mr. Strong, seating himself and looking at his watch. “He’s got manners and good looks, speaks several languages, and seems to have read a good deal. But he’s awfully green about this country. He really seemed to think that Chicago was more of a place than New York. He’ll get over that, of course. I wanted to have him meet some of our people to-night, but he begged me to receive him en famille. He seems to dread notoriety.”
“That looks suspicious,” commented Kate.