‘What news is there stirring in the country, Mr. Jason M’Quirk?’ says Sir Condy, very easy, yet high like.
‘None that’s news to you, Sir Condy, I hear,’ says Jason. ‘I am sorry to hear of my Lady Rackrent’s accident.’
‘I’m much obliged to you, and so is her ladyship, I’m sure,’ answered Sir Condy, still stiff; and there was another sort of a silence, which seemed to lie the heaviest on my son Jason.
‘Sir Condy,’ says he at last, seeing Sir Condy disposing himself to go to sleep again, ‘Sir Condy, I daresay you recollect mentioning to me the little memorandum you gave to Lady Rackrent about the £500 a year jointure.’
‘Very true,’ said Sir Condy; ‘it is all in my recollection.’ ‘But if my Lady Rackrent dies, there’s an end of all jointure,’ says Jason.
‘Of course,’ says Sir Condy.
‘But it’s not a matter of certainty that my Lady Rackrent won’t recover,’ says Jason.
‘Very true, sir,’ says my master.
‘It’s a fair speculation, then, for you to consider what the chance of the jointure of those lands, when out of custodiam, will be to you.’
‘Just five hundred a year, I take it, without any speculation at all,’ said Sir Condy.