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“Coming on Transcontinental. Arrive Grand
Central Terminal 9 P.M. the third. “Helen Morrell.” |
“Now! What do you think of that, Pa?” demanded Flossie.
“‘Helen Morrell,’” repeated Mr. Starkweather, and a person more observant than any of his daughters might have seen that his lips had grown suddenly gray. He dropped into his chair rather heavily. “Your cousin, girls.”
“Fol-de-rol!” exclaimed Belle. “I don’t see why she should claim relationship.”
“Send her to a hotel, Pa,” said Flossie.
“I’m sure I do not wish to be bothered by a common ranch girl. Why! she was born and brought up out in the wilds; wasn’t she?” demanded Hortense.
“Her father and mother went West before this girl was born—yes,” murmured Mr. Starkweather.
He was strangely agitated by the message. But the girls did not notice this. They were not likely to notice anything but their own disturbance over the coming of “that ranch girl.”
“Why, Pa, we can’t have her here!” cried Belle.
“Of course we can’t, Pa,” agreed Hortense.