“Oh, you needn’t explode, Pa!” ejaculated Belle. “We are aware of something about Helen that changes the complexion of affairs entirely.”
“What does this mean?” demanded Mr. Starkweather, blankly. “Something about Helen?”
“Yes, indeed, Pa,” said Flossie, spiritedly. “Who do you suppose owns that Sunset Ranch she talks about?”
“And who do you suppose is worth a quarter of a million dollars—more than you are worth, Pa, I declare?” cried Hortense.
“Girls!” exclaimed Belle. “That is very low. If we have made a mistake regarding Cousin Helen, of course it can be adjusted. But we need not be vulgar enough to say why we change toward her.”
Mr. Starkweather thumped upon the table with the handle of his knife.
“Girls!” he commanded. “I will have this explained. What do you mean?”
Out it came then—in a torrent. Three girls can do a great deal of talking in a few minutes—especially if they all talk at once.
But Mr. Starkweather got the gist of it. He understood what it all meant, and he realized what it meant to him, as well, better than his daughters could.
Prince Morrell, whom he had always considered a bit of a fool, and therefore had not even inquired about after he left for the West, had died a rich man. He had left this only daughter, who was an heiress to great wealth. And he, Willets Starkweather, had allowed the chance of a lifetime to slip through his fingers!