“Bitzer,” said Mrs. Sparsit, in a very impressive manner, “do you recollect my having said anything to you respecting names?”
“Ah—h!” said Mrs. Sparsit, shaking her head over her tea-cup, and taking a long gulp.
“Mr. Thomas, ma’am, I doubt Mr. Thomas very much, ma’am, I don’t like his ways at all.”
“Bitzer,” said Mrs. Sparsit, in a very impressive manner, “do you recollect my having said anything to you respecting names?”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am. It’s quite true that you did object to names being used, and they’re always best avoided.”
“Please to remember that I have a charge here,” said Mrs. Sparsit, with her air of state. “I hold a trust here, Bitzer, under Mr. Bounderby. However improbable both Mr. Bounderby and myself might have deemed it years ago, that he would ever become my patron, making me an annual compliment, I cannot but regard him in that light. From Mr. Bounderby I have received every acknowledgment of my social station, and every recognition of my family descent, that I could possibly expect. More, far more. Therefore, to my patron I will be scrupulously true. And I do not consider, I will not consider, I cannot consider,” said Mrs. Sparsit, with a most extensive stock on hand of honour and morality, “that I should be scrupulously true, if I allowed names to be mentioned under this roof, that are unfortunately—most unfortunately—no doubt of that—connected with his.”
Bitzer knuckled his forehead again, and again begged pardon.
“No, Bitzer,” continued Mrs. Sparsit, “say an individual, and I will hear you; say Mr. Thomas, and you must excuse me.”
“With the usual exception, ma’am,” said Bitzer, trying back, “of an individual.”
“Ah—h!” Mrs. Sparsit repeated the ejaculation, the shake of the head over her tea-cup, and the long gulp, as taking up the conversation again at the point where it had been interrupted.
