She ran boldly up the steps and rang the bell. In a minute the inner door swung open; but the outer grating remained locked. A man in livery stood in the opening.
“What did you wish, ma’am?” he asked in a perfectly placid voice.
“Does Mr. Willets Starkweather reside here?” asked Helen.
“Mr. Starkweather is not at home, ma’am.”
“Oh! then he could not have received my telegram!” gasped Helen.
The footman remained silent, but partly closed the door.
“Any message, ma’am?” he asked, perfunctorily.
“But surely the family is at home?” cried Helen.
“Not at this hour of the hevening, ma’am,” declared the English servant, with plain disdain.
“But I must see them!” cried Helen, again. “I am Mr. Starkweather’s niece. I have come all the way from Montana, and have just got into the city. You must let me in.”