There were two lonely and neglected people in that fine mansion. She, herself, was one. The old nurse, Mary Boyle, was the other. And Helen felt a strong desire to see and talk with her fellow-sufferer. CHAPTER XVII A DISTINCT SHOCK That evening when Mr. Starkweather came home, he handed Helen a sealed letter. "I have ascertained," the gentleman said, in his most pompous way, "that Mr. Fenwick Grimes is in town. He has recently returned from a tour of the West, where he has several mining interests. You will find his address on that envelope. Give the letter to him. It will serve to introduce you." He watched her closely while he said this, but did not appear to do so. Helen thanked him with some warmth. "This is very good of you, Uncle Starkweather--especially when I know you do not approve." "Ahem! Sleeping dogs are much better left alone. To stir a puddle is only to agitate the mud. This old business would much better be forgotten. You know all that there is to be known about the unfortunate affair, I am quite sure." "I cannot believe that, Uncle," Helen replied. "Had you seen how my dear father worried about it when he was dying----" Mr. Starkweather could look at her no longer--not even askance. He shook his head and murmured some commonplace, sympathetic phrase. But it did not seem genuine to his niece. She knew very well that Mr. Starkweather had no real sympathy for her; nor did he care a particle about her father's death. But she tucked the letter into her pocket and went her way. As she passed through the upstairs corridor Flossie was entering one of the drawing-rooms, and she caught her cousin by the hand. Flossie had been distinctly nicer to Helen--in private--since the latter had helped her with the algebra problems. "Come on in, Helen. Belle's just pouring tea. Don't you want some?" said the youngest Starkweather girl. It was in Helen's mind to excuse herself. Yet she was naturally too kindly to refuse to accept an advance like this. And she, like Flossie, had no idea that there was anybody in the drawing-room save Belle and Hortense. In they marched--and there were three young ladies--friends of Belle--sipping tea and eating macaroons by the log fire, for the evening was drawing in cold. "Goodness me!" ejaculated Belle. "Well, I never!" gasped Hortense. "Have _you_ got to butt in, Floss?" "We want some tea, too," said the younger girl, boldly, angered by her sisters' manner. "You'd better have it in the nursery," yawned Hortense. "This is no place for kids in the bread-and-butter stage of growth." "Oh, is that so?" cried Flossie. "Helen and I are not kids--distinctly _not_! I hope I know my way about a bit--and as for Helen," she added, with a wicked grin, knowing that the speech would annoy her sisters, "Helen can shoot, and rope steers, and break ponies to saddle, and all that. She told me so the other evening. Isn't that right, Cousin Helen?"