three score and ten. Your infernal hot-house civilization has killed me.
But if Lambert thinks to marry my widow he shall do so in the face of
Garvington's opposition, and will find Agnes a pauper."

"What do you mean exactly?" Miss Greeby flung away the stump of her
cigarette and rose to her feet.

Pine wiped his brow and breathed heavily. "I mean that I have left Agnes
my money, only on condition that she does _not_ marry Lambert. She can
marry any one else she has a mind to. I except her cousin."

"Because she loves him?"

"Yes, and because he loves her, d--n him."

"He doesn't," cried Miss Greeby, lying fluently, and heartily wishing
that her lie could be a truth. "He loves me, and I intend to marry him.
Now you can understand what I meant when I declared that I had honor
enough to keep your secret. Lambert is my honor."

"Oh, then I believe in your honor," sneered Pine cynically. "It is a
selfish quality in this case, which can only be gratified by preserving
silence. If Agnes knew that I was a true Romany tramp, she might run
away with Lambert, and as you want him to be your husband, it is to your
interest to hold your tongue. Thank you for nothing, Miss Greeby."

"I tell you Lambert loves me," cried the woman doggedly, trying to
persuade her heart that she spoke truly. "And whether you leave your
money to your wife, or to any one else, makes no manner of difference."