"Oh, May, you should have been there--the most divine opera! Sontag
sung like an angel."

"Dear Helen," said May, interrupting her, and laying her hand on her
arm, "don't! you will disturb Uncle Stillinghast; he is not well."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Helen, turning her face towards her,
while a gleam of almost ferocious pleasure shone in her eyes. "Oh, you
don't say so! Is he very sick?"

"A slight cold, I believe; at any rate, do not let us disturb him,"
said May, surprised and shocked at her evident pleasure.

"What nonsense!" cried Helen, laughing hysterically; "he'll live until
you and I are both dead, May. He's as tough as gutta percha. But,
would it not be a nice thing if he'd pop off suddenly, and leave us his
money?"

"Do not say _us_, Helen. I expect nothing, and desire nothing. As for
you, be satisfied; you are handsomely provided for."

"I know it; I know it. _I have read the will_!" exulted Helen.

"_Read the will_, Helen! How? When?"

"Oh, I did not mean _that_ exactly," said Helen, much confused; "you
really take me up so quick, that it is terrible. I should have said
that Walter told me something of the old man's intentions."