I somehow felt he was ill." "And why have they written to tell you ?" Pamela asked.
Jean picked up the letter which had fallen on the floor.
"It's from his lawyer, and he says he has left me money....

Read it, Pamela.

I don't seem able to see the words." So Pamela read aloud the letter that converted poverty-stricken Jean into a very wealthy woman.
Jean's face was dead white, and she lay back as if stunned, while Jock gave solemn utterance to the most complicated ejaculation he had yet achieved: "Goodness-gracious-mercy-Moses-Murphy-mumph-mumph-mumph!" Mhor said nothing, but stared with grave green eyes at the stricken figure of the heiress.
"It's awful," Jean moaned.
"But, my dear," said Pamela, "I thought you wanted to be rich." "Oh--rich in a gentle way, a few hundreds a year--but this--" "Poor Jean, buried under bullion." "You're all looking at me differently already," cried poor Jean.

"Mhor, it's just the same me.

Money can't make any real difference.