“My father,” replied Helen, simply and truthfully.
“Your father?” The reply evidently both surprised and discomposed Mr. Starkweather. “I do not understand. Your—your father is dead——”
“Yes, sir. It was just before he died.”
“And he told you to come here to—to us?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But why?” demanded the gentleman with some warmth.
“Dad said as how you folks lived nice, and knew all about refinement and eddication and all that. He wanted me to have a better chance than what I could get on the ranch.”
Mr. Starkweather glared at her in amazement. He was not at all a kind-hearted man; but he was very cowardly. He had feared her answer would be quite different from this, and now took courage.
“Do you mean to say that merely this expressed wish that you might live at—ahem!—at my expense, and as my daughters live, brought you here to New York?”
“That begun it, Uncle,” said Helen, coolly.