On his way home, on the evening he set aside for this momentous purpose, he took the precaution of stepping into a chemist’s shop and buying a bottle of the very strongest smelling-salts. ‘By George!’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘if she takes it in the fainting way, I’ll have the skin off her nose, at all events!’ But, in spite of being thus forearmed, he entered his own house with anything but a courageous air; and appeared before the object of his misgivings, like a dog who was conscious of coming direct from the pantry. ‘Good evening, Mr. Bounderby!’ ‘Good evening, ma’am, good evening.’ He drew up his chair, and Mrs. Sparsit drew back hers, as who should say, ‘Your fireside, sir. I freely admit it. It is for you to occupy it all, if you think proper.’ ‘Don’t go to the North Pole, ma’am!’ said Mr. Bounderby. ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, and returned, though short of her former position. Mr. Bounderby sat looking at her, as, with the points of a stiff, sharp pair of scissors, she picked out holes for some inscrutable ornamental purpose, in a piece of cambric. An operation which, taken in connexion with the bushy eyebrows and the Roman nose, suggested 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 workbox at the mirror, or swooned on the hearthrug,—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.’