The shaky old butler stood in the doorway.
“It is Lawdor,” said Belle, emphatically. “Is there any breakfast left, Lawdor?”
“Yes, Miss Belle. When Gregson told me the young miss was not at the table I kept something hot and hot for her, Miss. Shall I serve it in my room?”
“You may as well,” said Belle, carelessly. “And, Cousin Helen!”
“Yep?” chirped the girl from the ranch.
“Of course, while you are here, we could not have you in the room you occupied last night. It—it might be needed. I have already told Olstrom, the housekeeper, to take your bag and other things up to the next floor. Ask one of the maids to show you the room you are to occupy—while you remain.”
“That’s all right, Belle,” returned the Western girl, with great heartiness. “Any old place will do for me. Why! I’ve slept on the ground more nights than you could shake a stick at,” and she tramped off after the tottering butler.
“Well!” gasped Hortense when she was out of hearing, “what do you know about that?”
“Pa, do you intend to let that dowdy little thing stay here?” cried Belle.
“Ahem!” murmured Mr. Starkweather, running a finger around between his collar and his neck, as though to relieve the pressure there.