countenance were invoking the infernal gods.

“If you had said I was another father to Tom—young Tom, I mean, not my friend Tom Gradgrind—you might have been nearer the mark. I am going to take young Tom into my office. Going to have him under my wing, ma’am.”

“Indeed? Rather young for that, is he not, sir?” Mrs. Sparsit’s “sir,” in addressing Mr. Bounderby, was a word of ceremony, rather exacting consideration for herself in the use than honouring him.

“I’m not going to take him at once; he is to finish his educational cramming before then,” said Bounderby. “By the Lord Harry, he’ll have enough of it, first and last! He’d open his eyes, that boy would, if he knew how empty of learning my young maw was at his time of life.” Which, by-the-bye, he probably did know, for he had heard of it often enough. “But it’s extraordinary the difficulty I have, on scores of such subjects, in speaking to anyone on equal terms. Here, for example, I have been speaking to you this morning about tumblers. Why, what do you know about tumblers? At the time when, to have been a tumbler in the mud of the streets, would have been a godsend to me, a prize in the lottery to me, you were at the Italian Opera. You were coming out of the Italian Opera, ma’am, in white satin and jewels, a blaze of splendor, when I hadn’t a penny to buy a link to light you.”

“I certainly, sir,” returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a dignity serenely mournful, “was familiar with the Italian Opera at a very early age.”

“Egad, ma’am, so was I,” said Bounderby “—with the wrong side of it. A hard bed the pavement of its arcade used to make, I assure you. People like you, ma’am, accustomed from infancy to lie on down feathers, have no idea how hard a paving-stone is, without trying it. No, no, it’s of no use my talking to you about tumblers. I should speak of foreign dancers, and the West End of London, and May Fair, and lords and ladies and honour ables.”

“I trust, sir,” rejoined Mrs. Sparsit, with decent resignation, “it is not necessary that you should do anything of that kind. I hope I have learnt how to accommodate myself to the changes of life. If I have acquired an interest in hearing of your instructive experiences, and can scarcely hear enough of them, I claim no merit for that, since I believe it is a general sentiment.”

“Well, ma’am,” said her patron, “perhaps some people may be pleased to say that they do like to hear, in his own unpolished way, what Josiah Bounderby of Coketown has gone through. But you must confess that you were born in the lap of luxury yourself. Come, ma’am, you know you were born in the lap of luxury.”

“I do not, sir,” returned Mrs. Sparsit with a shake of her head, “deny it.”

Mr. Bounderby was obliged to get up from the table and stand with his back to the fire looking at her; she was such an enhancement of his position.

“And you were in crack society. Devilish high society,” he said, warming his legs.

“It is true, sir,” returned Mrs. Sparsit, with an affectation of humility the very opposite of his, and therefore in no danger of jostling it.

“You were in the tip-top fashion, and all the rest of it,” said Mr. Bounderby.

“Yes, sir,” returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a kind of social widowhood upon her. “It is unquestionably true.”

Mr. Bounderby, bending himself at the knees, literally embraced his legs in his great satisfaction and laughed aloud. Mr. and Miss Gradgrind being then announced, he received the former with a shake of the hand, and the latter with a kiss.

“Can Jupe be sent here, Bounderby?” asked Mr. Gradgrind.

“Certainly.” So Jupe was sent there. On coming in, she curtseyed to Mr. Bounderby, and to his friend Tom Gradgrind, and also to Louisa, but in her confusion unluckily omitted Mrs. Sparsit. Observing this, the blusterous Bounderby had the following remarks to make:

“Now, I tell you what, my girl. The name of that lady by the teapot is Mrs. Sparsit. That lady acts as mistress of this house, and she is a highly connected lady. Consequently, if you ever come again into any room in this house, you will make a short stay in it if you don’t behave towards that lady in your most respectful manner. Now, I don’t care a button what you do to