It was a toss of the penny which sister it should be; both of them were lovely, both of them rosy and charming. He looked at Douglas first, however, and never saw Helen at all, at least, seemed not to. He did not take his eyes from Douglas’s face during the entire call.
“Has the lighting system come yet?” asked Mr. Carter. “It should have been here by now.”
“Did you order one?” asked the count. “I understood I was to send the order and have done so. You sent it off, did you not, Herz?”
“Certainly! A week ago!”
“But you told me to order it,” insisted Mr. Carter. “I am sure you did.”
“Why, that is all right, my dear fellow,” said the count very kindly. “If both of them come it will make no difference. I can install one of them in the barn and garage.”
“Oh, but I cannot let you have the expense of both if I was at fault,” and Mr. Carter looked distressed. Was his head not behaving as it should, after all?
“Why, my dear Mr. Carter, it might easily have been my mistake and I cannot have you bothered about it. The expense is trifling. Miss Helen, help me to persuade your father that it is nothing.”
The count’s manner was so kindly and he seemed so anxious to make Mr. Carter feel that if any mistake had been made he, the count, had made it that Helen was deeply grateful. How much she liked this foreign nobleman, anyhow. He was always so gracious, so suave, so elegant. His heart must be tender, his disposition good, or how could he make all of the poor colored people like him so much? Helen was fully aware of the fact that the count was attracted by her, but there had been times when she was sure he was equally taken with Douglas, and certainly his manner to Nan on several occasions had been one of devotion. He always seemed to be coming out on the train with Nan and Lucy, and Lucy had intimated that he had caused Billy Sutton many sad hours by “hogging” the seat by Nan. Could he be a flirt? Helen put the thought from her. She hated a male flirt. Nevertheless she was conscious of the fact that she had a little tiny twinge of jealousy, so tiny that it was only a speck, but it was there.
“It’s Douglas’s hair and Nan’s eyes,” she thought. “I believe he thinks I’m more interesting than they are, though,” and then she took herself to task for a foolish, vain girl. “What difference does it make to me, anyhow? What do we know of this stranger and what is he to us?”