“Very good, very good,” said the little man, observing the impression he had made. “Now, the fact is, that beyond a few hundreds, the lady has little or nothing till the death of her mother—fine old lady, my dear sir.”
“Old,” said Mr. Jingle, briefly but emphatically.
“Why, yes,” said the attorney, with a slight cough. “You are right, my dear sir, she is rather old. She comes of an old family though, my dear sir; old in every sense of the word. The founder of that family came into Kent, when Julius Cæsar invaded Britain;—only one member of it, since, who hasn’t lived to eighty-five, and he was beheaded by one of the Henrys. The old lady is not seventy-three now, my dear sir.” The little man paused, and took a pinch of snuff.
“Well?” cried Mr. Jingle.
“Well, my dear sir—you don’t take snuff?—ah! so much the better—expensive habit—well, my dear sir, you’re a fine young man, man of the world—able to push your fortune, if you had capital, eh?”
“Well?” said Mr. Jingle again.
“Do you comprehend me?”
“Not quite.”
“Don’t you think—now, my dear sir, I put it to you, don’t you think—that fifty pounds and liberty, would be better than Miss Wardle and expectation?”
“Won’t do—not half enough!” said Mr. Jingle, rising.