"Is it possible! Excuse me: you are not
a native, I think?"

"No, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit. "It was
once my good or ill fortune, as it may be—
before I became a widow—to move in a
very different sphere. My husband was a
Powler."

"Beg your pardon, really! " said the
stranger. "Was—?"

Mrs. Sparsit repeated, "A Powler." "Powler
Family," said the stranger, after reflecting
a few moments. Mrs. Sparsit signified
assent. The stranger seemed a little more
fatigued than before.

"You must be very much bored here?" was
the inference he drew from the communication.

"I am the servant of circumstances, sir,"
said Mrs. Sparsit, "and I have long adapted
myself to the governing power of my life."

"Very philosophical," returned the stranger,
"and very exemplary and laudable, and—"
It seemed to be scarcely worth his while to
finish the sentence, so he played with his
watch-chain wearily.

"May I be permitted to ask, sir," said
Mrs. Sparsit, "to what I am indebted for the
favour of—"

"Assuredly," said the stranger. "Much
obliged to you for reminding me. I am
the bearer of a letter of introduction to
Mr. Bounderby the banker. Walking
through this extraordinarily black town,
while they were getting dinner ready at the
hotel, I asked a fellow whom I met; one of the
working people; who appeared to have been
taking a shower-bath of something fluffy,
which I assume to be the raw material;—"

Mrs. Sparsit inclined her head.

"—Raw material—where Mr. Bounderby
the banker, might reside. Upon which, misled
no doubt by the word Banker, he directed me
to the Bank. Fact being, I presume, that
Mr. Bounderby the Banker, does not reside
in the edifice in which I have the honour of
offering this explanation?"

"No, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, "he does
not."

"Thank you. I had no intention of delivering
my letter at the present moment, nor have
I. But, strolling on to the Bank to kill
time, and having the good fortune to
observe at the window," towards which he
languidly waved his hand, then slightly bowed,
"a lady of a very superior and agreeable
appearance, I considered that I could not
do better than take the liberty of asking
that lady where Mr. Bounderby the Banker,
does live. Which I accordingly venture, with
all suitable apologies, to do."

The inattention and indolence of his manner
were sufficiently relieved, to Mrs. Sparsit's
thinking, by a certain gallantry at ease,
which offered her homage too. Here he was,
for instance, at this moment, all but sitting
on the table, and yet lazily bending over her,
as if he acknowledged an attraction in her
that made her charming—in her way.

"Banks, I know, are always suspicious, and
officially must be," said the stranger, whose
lightness and smoothness of speech were
pleasant likewise; suggesting matter far
more sensible and humorous than it ever
contained—which was perhaps a shrewd
device of the founder of this numerous sect,
whosoever may have been that great man;
"therefore I may observe that my letter
—here it is—is from the member for this
place—Gradgrind—whom I have had the
pleasure of knowing in London."

Mrs. Sparsit recognised the hand, intimated
that such confirmation was quite unnecessary,
and gave Mr. Bounderby's address, with all
needful clues and directions in aid.

"Thousand thanks," said the stranger. "Of
course you know the Banker well?"

"Yes, sir," rejoined Mrs. Sparsit. "In my
dependent relation towards him, I have known
him ten years."

"Quite an eternity! I think he married
Gradgrind's daughter?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Sparsit, suddenly
compressing her mouth. "He had that—honor."

"The lady is quite a philosopher, I am
told?"

"Indeed, sir," said Mrs. Sparsit. Is she?"

"Excuse my impertinent curiosity," pursued
the stranger, fluttering over Mrs. Sparsit's
eyebrows, with a propitiatory air, "but you
know the family, and know the world. I am
about to know the family, and may have
much to do with them. Is the lady so very
alarming? Her father gives her such a
portentously hard-headed reputation, that I
have a burning desire to know. Is she
absolutely unapproachable? Repellently and
stunningly clever? I see, by your meaning
smile, you think not. You have poured balm
into my anxious soul. As to age, now.
Forty? Five and thirty?"

Mrs. Sparsit laughed outright. "A chit,"
said she. "Not twenty when she was
married."

"I give you my honor, Mrs. Powler,"
returned the stranger, detaching himself from
the table, "that I never was so astonished in
my life!"

It really did seem to impress him, to the
utmost extent of his capacity of being
impressed. He looked at his informant for
full a quarter of a minute, and appeared to
have the surprise in his mind all the time.
"I assure you, Mrs. Powler," he then said,
much exhausted, "that the father's manner
prepared me for a grim and stony maturity.
I am obliged to you, of all things, for
correcting so absurd a mistake. Pray excuse
my intrusion. Many thanks. Good day!"

He bowed himself out; and Mrs. Sparsit,
hiding in the window-curtain, saw him
languishing down the street on the shady side
of the way, observed of all the town.

"What do you think of the gentleman,
Bitzer?" she asked the light porter, when
he came to take away.