Helen's eyes still seemed about to overflow. Never had she looked so small and helpless, and she now displayed that attitude of diffidence, peculiar to foreigners. Years of oppression leave their indent upon such impressionable characters, and Helka Podonsky, at that moment harked back, body and soul, to her untold life somewhere in Poland.
"Oh, thank you. I know how kind you are," she murmured. "But it must seem very strange. You know I love my people, and I love my country. It is not that--but----"
"Oh, we know, Helen dear," Judith tried to pacify. "And you must not think that because we are Americans, and have been born in these United States, we do not know of the hardships of other countries. And even here, Helen, we girls have plenty of troubles of our own, don't we, Janie?"
"Indeed we do. Last year was not so bad at school, but when I came to Wellington first I was treated exactly like an outcast, except for Judith's wonderful protection and influence. That is why you must trust us. We are determined you shall not suffer, as even a Western girl was made to. Why, if I had been a real cowboy, with all the trappings, they could not have been more hateful to me at first."
Tactful Jane had hit upon this line of conversation to relieve the more personal trend. But Helen did not quite understand. Was Jane warning her?
[CHAPTER XI--A STRANGE PREDICAMENT]
"Our last expedition, girls. Shall we all make it?"
"Oh, don't tell us this is the wind-up of our glorious honeymoon! I feel exactly like a deserted bride. How can we leave it all for old Wellington, Jane?"
"Judy, dear, you forget the old saw about the fish that have not yet been caught. And I always thought you such a good sport."
"Janie, I know all that junk about fish. But just look at dear old New York! And see our applied science in exact housekeeping! I----"