"What did he do?" Flossie asked, bluntly. "Embezzled; didn't he, Pa?" asked Belle. "That's enough!" cried Flossie, tossing her head. "We certainly don't want a convict's daughter in the house." "Hush, Flossie!" said her father, with sudden sternness. "Prince Morrell was never a convict." "No," sneered Hortense. "He ran away. He didn't get that far." "Ahem! Daughters, we have no right to talk in this way--even in fun----" "Well, I don't care," cried Belle, impatiently. "Whether she's a criminal's child or not; I don't want her. None of us wants her. Why, then, should we have her?" "But where will she go?" demanded Mr. Starkweather, almost desperately. "What do we care?" cried Flossie, callously. "She can be sent back; can't she?" "I tell you what it is," said Belle, getting up and speaking with determination. "We don't want Helen Morrell here. We will not meet her at the train. We will not send any reply to this message from her. And if she has the effrontery to come here to the house after our ignoring her in this way, we'll send her back where she came from just as soon as it can be done. What do you say, girls?" "Fine!" from Hortense and Flossie. But their father said "Ahem!" and still looked troubled. CHAPTER VI ACROSS THE CONTINENT It was not as though Helen Morrell had never been in a train before. Eight times she had gone back and forth to Denver, and she had always ridden in the best style. So sleepers, chair cars, private compartments, and observation coaches were no novelty to her. She had discussed the matter with her friend, the Elberon station agent, and had bought her ticket through to New York, with a berth section to herself. It cost a good bit of money, but Helen knew no better way to spend some of that thousand dollars that Big Hen had given to her. Her small trunk was put in the baggage car, and all she carried was a hand-satchel with toilet articles and kimono; and in it likewise was her father's big wallet stuffed with the yellow-backed notes--all crisp and new--that Big Hen Billings had brought to her from the bank. When she was comfortably seated in her particular section, and the porter had seen that her footstool was right, and had hovered about her with offers of other assistance until she had put a silver dollar into his itching palm, Helen first stared about her frankly at the other occupants of the car. Nobody paid much attention to the countrified girl who had come aboard at the way-station. The Transcontinental's cars are always well filled. There were family parties, and single tourists, with part of a grand opera troupe, and traveling men of the better class.