‘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 Caesar 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. ‘Nay, nay, my dear Sir,’ remonstrated the little attorney, seizing him by the button. ‘Good round sum--a man like you could treble it in no time--great deal to be done with fifty pounds, my dear Sir.’ ‘More to be done with a hundred and fifty,’ replied Mr. Jingle coolly. ‘Well, my dear Sir, we won’t waste time in splitting straws,’ resumed the little man, ‘say--say--seventy.’ Won’t do,’ said Mr. Jingle. ‘Don’t go away, my dear sir--pray don’t hurry,’ said the little man. ‘Eighty; come: I’ll write you a cheque at once.’ ‘Won’t do,’ said Mr. Jingle. ‘Well, my dear Sir, well,’ said the little man, still detaining him; ‘just tell me what _will_ do.’ ‘Expensive affair,’ said Mr. Jingle. ‘Money out of pocket--posting, nine pounds; licence, three--that’s twelve--compensation, a hundred--hundred and twelve--breach of honour--and loss of the lady--’ ‘Yes, my dear Sir, yes,’ said the little man, with a knowing look, ‘never mind the last two items. That’s a hundred and twelve--say a hundred--come.’ ‘And twenty,’ said Mr. Jingle. ‘Come, come, I’ll write you a cheque,’ said the little man; and down he sat at the table for that purpose. ‘I’ll make it payable the day after to-morrow,’ said the little man, with a look towards Mr. Wardle; ‘and we can get the lady away, meanwhile.’ Mr. Wardle sullenly nodded assent. ‘A hundred,’ said the little man. ‘And twenty,’ said Mr. Jingle. ‘My dear Sir,’ remonstrated the little man. ‘Give it him,’ interposed Mr. Wardle, ‘and let him go.’ The cheque was written by the little gentleman, and pocketed by Mr. Jingle. ‘Now, leave this house instantly!’ said Wardle, starting up. ‘My dear Sir,’ urged the little man.