Miss Stone’s mouth fairly hung open, and her eyes were as round as eyes could be, with wonder and surprise.
“What is this you tell me?” she murmured. “Helen Morrell a pauper?”
“I presume those people out there in Montana wanted to get the girl off their hands,” said Belle, coldly, “and merely shipped her East, hoping that Pa would make provision for her. She has been a great source of annoyance to us, I do assure you.”
“A source of annoyance?” repeated the caller.
“And why not? Without a rag decent to wear. With no money. Scarcely education enough to make herself intelligibly understood——”
Flossie began to giggle. But Jessie Stone rose to her feet. This volatile, talkative girl could be very dignified when she was aroused.
“You are speaking of my friend, Helen Morrell,” she interrupted Belle’s flow of angry language, sternly. “Whether she is your cousin, or not, she is my friend, and I will not listen to you talk about her in that way. Besides, you must be crazy if you believe your own words! Helen Morrell poor! Helen Morrell uneducated!
“Why, Helen was four years in one of the best preparatory schools of the West—in Denver. Let me tell you that Denver is some city, too. And as for being poor and having nothing to wear—Why, whatever can you mean? She owns one of the few big ranches left in the West, with thousands upon thousands of cattle and horses upon it. And her father left her all that, and perhaps a quarter of a million in cash or investments beside.”
“Not Helen?” shrieked Belle, sitting down very suddenly.
“Little Helen—rich?” murmured Hortense.