Laura Crane - The Automobile Girls at Palm Beach - or, Proving Their Mettle Under Southern Skies

“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:

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.”

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?”