"Mrs. Starkweather. He married my mother's sister--my Aunt Eunice." "Mrs. Starkweather!" gasped Mrs. Olstrom. "Of course." "Then, where have _you_ been these past three years?" demanded the housekeeper in wonder. "Mrs. Starkweather has been dead all of that time. Mr. Willets Starkweather is a widower." "Aunt Eunice dead?" cried Helen. The news was a distinct shock to the girl. She forgot everything else for the moment. Her face told her story all too well, and the housekeeper could not doubt her longer. "You're a relative, then?" "Her--her niece, Helen Morrell," sobbed Helen. "Oh! I did not know--I did not know----" "Never mind. You are entitled to hospitality and protection. Did you just arrive?" "Yes, ma'am." "Your home is not near?" "In Montana." "My goodness! You cannot go back to-night, that is sure. But why did you not write?" "I telegraphed I was coming." "I never heard of it. Perhaps the message was not received. Gregson!" "Yes, ma'am," replied the footman. "You said something about a taxicab waiting outside with this young lady's luggage?" "Yes, ma'am." "Go and pay the man and have the baggage brought in----" "I'll pay for it, ma'am," said Helen, hastily, trying to unlock her bag. "That will be all right. I will settle it with Mr. Starkweather. Here is money, Gregson. Pay the fare and give the man a quarter for himself. Have the trunk brought into the basement. I will attend to Miss--er----?" "Morrell." "Miss Morrell, myself," finished the housekeeper. The footman withdrew. The housekeeper looked hard at Helen for several moments. "So you came here expecting hospitality--in your uncle's house--and from your cousins?" she observed, jerkily. "Well!" She got up and motioned Helen to take up her bag. "Come. I have no orders regarding you. I shall give you one of the spare rooms. You are entitled to that much. No knowing when either Mr. Starkweather or the young ladies will be at home," she said, grimly. "I hope you won't put yourself out," observed Helen, politely. "I am not likely to," returned Mrs. Olstrom. "It is you who will be more likely---- Well!" she finished, without making her meaning very plain. This reception, to cap all that had gone before since she had arrived at the Grand Central Terminal, chilled Helen. The shock of discovering that her mother's sister was dead--and she and her father had not been informed of it--was no small one, either. She wished now that she had not come to the house at all. "I would better have gone to a hotel until I found out how they felt toward me," thought the girl from the ranch. Yet Helen was just. She began to tell herself that neither Mr. Starkweather nor her cousins were proved guilty of the rudeness of her reception. The telegram might have gone astray. They might never have dreamed of her coming on from Sunset Ranch to pay them a visit.