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It has not been, sir, without some trouble that I have effected this; but trouble in your service is to me a pleasure, and hunger, thirst, and cold a real gratification. Here Mrs. Sparsit ceased; for Mr. Bounderby's visage exhibited an extraordinary combination of all possible colours and expressions of discomfiture, as old Mrs. Pegler was disclosed to his view.
Sparsit, starting from the dull office window whence she had watched him last. 'Harthouse is with his sister now! It was the conception of an inspired moment, and she shot off with her utmost swiftness to work it out.
Sparsit received into her mind, set off with such an unavoidable halo of confusion and indistinctness, that when at length he climbed the fence and led his horse away, she was not sure where they were to meet, or when, except that they had said it was to be that night. But one of them yet remained in the darkness before her; and while she tracked that one she must be right.
Sparsit was this lady's name; and she was a prominent figure in attendance on Mr. Bounderby's car, as it rolled along in triumph with the Bully of humility inside. For, Mrs. Sparsit had not only seen different days, but was highly connected. She had a great aunt living in these very times called Lady Scadgers. Mr.
Sparsit, 'that Miss Gradgrind was wanting in animation, but I confess she appears to me considerably and strikingly improved in that respect. Ay, and indeed here is Mr. Bounderby! cried Mrs. Sparsit, nodding her head a great many times, as if she had been talking and thinking of no one else. 'How do you find yourself this morning, sir? Pray let us see you cheerful, sir.
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.
Bounderby; it's very absurd of me as youthful as I described her? asked Mrs. Sparsit, sweetly. 'You drew her portrait perfectly, said Mr. Harthouse. 'Presented her dead image. 'Very engaging, sir, said Mrs. Sparsit, causing her mittens slowly to revolve over one another. 'Highly so. 'It used to be considered, said Mrs.
Sparsit, 'I was thinking of the dew. 'What have you got to do with the dew, ma'am? said Mr. Bounderby. 'It's not myself, sir, returned Mrs. Sparsit, 'I am fearful of Miss Gradgrind's taking cold. 'She never takes cold, said Mr. Bounderby. 'Really, sir? said Mrs. Sparsit. And was affected with a cough in her throat. When the time drew near for retiring, Mr. Bounderby took a glass of water.
Sparsit was too distant to hear a word of their discourse, or even to know that they were speaking softly, otherwise than from the expression of their figures; but what they said was this: 'You recollect the man, Mr. Harthouse? 'Oh, perfectly! 'His face, and his manner, and what he said? 'Perfectly. And an infinitely dreary person he appeared to me to be. Lengthy and prosy in the extreme.
'I have always pitied the delusion, always. 'As to an individual, ma'am, said Bitzer, dropping his voice and drawing nearer, 'he is as improvident as any of the people in this town. And you know what their improvidence is, ma'am. No one could wish to know it better than a lady of your eminence does. 'They would do well, returned Mrs. Sparsit, 'to take example by you, Bitzer.
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