“Now, don’t cry, my dear! Come! I wish we could help you clear up that old trouble. But many of your father’s old friends—like papa—never believed Prince Morrell guilty.”
Helen was crying by this time. The kindness of this older girl broke down her self-possession. They heard somebody coming up the stairs, and Miss Van Ramsden said, quickly:
“Take me to your room, dear. We can talk there.”
Helen never thought that she might be giving the Starkweather family deadly offence by doing this. She led Miss Van Ramsden immediately to the rear of the house and up the back stairway to the attic floor. The caller looked somewhat amazed when Helen ushered her into the room.
“Well, they could not have put you much nearer the sky; could they?” she said, laughing, yet eyeing Helen askance.
“Oh, I don’t mind it up here,” returned Helen, truthfully enough. “And I have some company on this floor.”
“Ahem! The maids, I suppose?” said May Van Ramsden.
“No, no,” Helen assured her, eagerly. “The dearest little old lady you ever saw.”
Then she stopped and looked at her caller in some distress. For the moment she had forgotten that she was probably on the way to reveal the Starkweather family skeleton!
“A little old lady? Who can that be?” cried the caller. “You interest me.”