“I will,” said Helen. “I have really listened attentively; you must tell me all about these rich men that I am to meet, and what I am to do. I hope I am not the only girl.” “Of course not,” was the response; “I would not do anything ridiculous. I have invited a number of other girls--but they won't trouble you in the least.” “No,” said Helen. “I am not afraid of other girls; but what's to be done? It's a sort of house-warming, I suppose?” “Yes,” was the reply, “I suppose so, for I only came down last week myself. I have asked about twenty people for a week or two; they all know each other, more or less, so there won't be much formality. We shall amuse ourselves with coaching and golf, and anything else we please; and of course there will be plenty of music in the evening.” Helen smiled at the significant tone of her aunt's voice. “Are the people there now?” she asked. “Those who live anywhere in the neighborhood are; most of the men will be down on the afternoon train, in time for dinner.” “And tell me who are the men, Auntie?” “I'm afraid I won't have time,” said Mrs. Roberts, glancing out of the carriage. “We are too near home. But I will tell you about one of them, if you like.” “The king-bee?” laughed Helen. “Is there a king-bee?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Roberts; “there is. At any rate, my husband and I think he is, and we are anxious to see what you think. His name is Gerald Harrison, and he comes from Cincinnati.” “Oh, dear,” said Helen, “I hate to meet men from the West. He must be a pork-packer, or something horrible.” “No,” said the other, “he is a railroad president.” “And why do you think he's the king-bee; is he very rich?” “He is worth about ten million dollars,” said Aunt Polly. Helen gazed at her wildly. “Ten million dollars!” she gasped. “Yes,” said the other; “about that, probably a little more. Mr. Roberts knows all about his affairs.” Helen was staring into her aunt's face. “Tell me,” she asked, very nervously indeed. “Tell me, honestly!” “What?” “Is that the man you are bringing me here to meet?” “Yes, Helen,” said the other quietly. The girl's hands were clasped tightly together just then. “Aunt Polly,” she asked, “what kind of a man is he? I will not marry a bad man!” “A bad man, child? How ridiculous! Do you suppose I would ask you to marry a bad man, if he owned all New York? I want you to be happy. Mr. Harrison is a man who has made his own fortune, and he is a man of tremendous energy. Everyone is obliged to respect him.” “But he must be old, Auntie.” “He is very young, Helen, only about forty.” “Dear me,” said the girl, “I could never marry a man as old as forty; and then, I'd have to go out West!”