“But the tree was very tall and he could not have gotten out of it safely with his wounded foot had not Helen ridden up to the brink of the precipice, thrown him a rope, and swung him out of the tree upon a ledge of rock. Then he worked his way down the side of the cliff while Helen caught his horse. But his foot hurt him so that he could never have got into the saddle alone; and Helen put him on her own pony and led the pony to the ranch house.”
“Bully for Helen!” ejaculated Flossie, under her breath. Even Hortense was flushed a bit over the story. But Belle could see nothing to admire in her cousin from the West, and she only said, harshly:
“Very likely, Miss Stone. Helen seems to be a veritable hoyden. These ranch girls are so unfortunate in their bringing up and their environment. In the wilds I presume Helen may be passable; but she is quite, quite impossible here in the city——”
“I don’t know what you mean by being ‘impossible,’” interrupted Jess Stone. “She is a lovely girl.”
“You haven’t met her?” cried Belle. “It’s only Mr. Stone’s talk.”
“I certainly have met her, Miss Starkweather. Certainly I know her—and know her well. Had I known when she was coming to New York I would have begged her to come to us. It is plain that her own relatives do not care much for Helen Morrell,” said the very frank young lady.
“Well—we—er——”
“Why, Helen has been meeting me in the bridle-path almost every morning. And she rides wonderfully.”
“Riding in Central Park!” cried Hortense.
“Why—why, the child has nothing decent to wear,” declared Belle. “How could she get a riding habit—or hire a horse? I do not understand this, Miss Stone, but I can tell you right now, that Helen has nothing fit to wear to your dinner party. She came here a little pauper—with nothing fit to wear in her trunk. Pa did find money enough for a new street dress and hat for her; but he did not feel that he could support in luxury every pauper who came here and claimed relationship with him.”