with some liveliness the idea of a hawk engaged upon the eyes of a tough little bird. She was so steadfastly occupied that many minutes elapsed before she looked up from her work; when she did so, Mr. Bounderby bespoke her attention with a hitch of his head.

“Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am,” said Mr. Bounderby, putting his hands in his pockets, and assuring himself with his right hand that the cork of the little bottle was ready for use, “I have no occasion to say to you that you are not only a lady born and bred, but a devilish sensible woman.”

“Sir,” returned the lady, “this is indeed not the first time that you have honoured me with similar expressions of your good opinion.”

“Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am,” said Mr. Bounderby, “I am going to astonish you.”

“Yes, sir?” returned Mrs. Sparsit, interrogatively, and in the most tranquil manner possible. She generally wore mittens, and she now laid down her work, and smoothed those mittens.

“I am going, ma’am,” said Bounderby, “to marry Tom Gradgrind’s daughter.”

“Yes, sir,” returned Mrs. Sparsit. “I hope you may be happy, Mr. Bounderby. Oh, indeed I hope you may be happy, sir!” And she said it with such great condescension as well as with such great compassion for him, that Bounderby—far more disconcerted than if she had thrown her work-box at the mirror, or swooned on the hearth-rug—corked up the smelling-salts tight in his pocket, and thought, “Now confound this woman, who could have even guessed that she would take it in this way?”

“I wish with all my heart, sir,” said Mrs. Sparsit, in a highly superior manner—somehow she seemed, in a moment, to have established a right to pity him ever afterwards—“that you may be in all respects very happy.”

“Well, ma’am,” returned Bounderby, with some resentment in his tone, which was clearly lowered, though in spite of himself, “I am obliged to you. I hope I shall be.”

“Do you, sir?” said Mrs. Sparsit, with great affability. “But naturally you do; of course you do.”

A very awkward pause on Mr. Bounderby’s part succeeded. Mrs. Sparsit sedately resumed her work and occasionally gave a small cough, which sounded like the cough of conscious strength and forebearance.

“Well, ma’am,” resumed Bounderby, “under these circumstances, I imagine it would not be agreeable to a character like yours to remain here, though you would be very welcome here.”

“Oh, dear no, sir, I could on no account think of that!” Mrs. Sparsit shook her head, still in her highly superior manner, and a little changed the small cough—coughing now, as if the spirit of prophecy rose within her, but had better be coughed down.

“However, ma’am,” said Bounderby, “there are apartments at the Bank, where a born-and-bred lady, as keeper of the place, would be rather a catch than otherwise; and if the same terms——”

“I beg your pardon, sir. You were so good as to promise that you would always substitute the phrase, annual compliment.”

“Well, ma’am, annual compliment. If the same annual compliment would be acceptable there, why, I see nothing to part us, unless you do.”

“Sir,” returned Mrs. Sparsit, “the proposal is like yourself, and if the position I shall assume at the Bank is one that I could occupy without descending lower in the social scale . . .”

“Why, of course it is,” said Bounderby. “If it was not, ma’am, you don’t suppose that I should offer it to a lady who has moved in the society you have moved in. Not that I care for such society, you know! But you do.”

“Mr. Bounderby, you are very considerate.”

“You’ll have your own private apartments, and you’ll have your coals and your candles, and all the rest of it, and you’ll have your maid to attend upon you, and you’ll have your light porter to protect you, and you’ll be what I take the liberty of considering precious comfortable,” said Bounderby.

“Sir,” rejoined Mrs. Sparsit, “say no more. In yielding up my trust here, I shall not be freed from the necessity of eating the bread of dependence”—she might have said the sweetbread, for that delicate article in a savoury brown sauce was her favourite supper—“and I would rather receive it from your hand than from any other. Therefore, sir, I accept your offer gratefully, and with many sincere acknowledgements for past favours. And I hope, sir,” said Mrs. Sparsit, concluding in an impressively compassionate manner, “I fondly hope that Miss Gradgrind may be all you desire, and deserve!”

Nothing moved Mrs. Sparsit from that position any more. It was