But Flossie was more honest. She only nodded to Helen at first. Then, when Gregson was out of the room, she jumped up, went around the table swiftly, and caught the Western girl about the neck.
“Helen! I’m just as ashamed of myself as I can be!” she cried, her tears flowing copiously. “I treated you so mean all the time, and you have been so very, very decent about helping me in my lessons. Forgive me; will you? Oh, please say you will!”
Helen kissed her warmly. “Nothing to forgive, Floss,” she said, a little bruskly, perhaps. “Don’t let’s speak about it.”
She merely bowed and said a word in reply to the others. Nor could Mr. Starkweather’s unctuous conversation arouse her interest.
“You have a part in the very worthy effort to liven up old Nurse Boyle, I understand?” said Mr. Starkweather, graciously. “Is there anything needed that I can have sent in, Helen?”
“Oh, no, sir. I am only helping Miss Van Ramsden,” Helen replied, timidly.
“I think May Van Ramsden should have told me of her plans,” said Belle, tossing her head.
“Or, me,” rejoined Hortense.
“Pah!” snapped Flossie. “None of us ever cared a straw for the old woman. Queer old thing. I thought she was more than a little cracked.”
“Flossie!” ejaculated Mr. Starkweather, angrily, “unless you can speak with more respect for—ahem!—for a faithful old servitor of the Starkweather family, I shall have to—ahem!—ask you to leave the table.”