"He's made a will in my favour."
"Did he tell you?"
"He did. He's left me everything--every shilling he has in the world."
"You're a beauty, upon my soul you are!"
"And I tell you that he's dying while we are standing here. The odds are that he'll be dead by the time that I get back."
"How do you know?"
"Then everything he has will be mine--ours."
"Ours?"
"Ours!--yours and mine!--if you can keep a still tongue in your head, and keep on pretending that you know nothing about me."
He was trembling.