As this was his usual hour for having a little confidential chat with Mrs. Sparsit, and as he had already caught her eye and seen that she was going to ask him something, he made a pretence of arranging the rulers, inkstands, and so forth, while that lady went on with her tea, glancing through the open window, down into the street.

“Has it been a busy day, Bitzer?” asked Mrs. Sparsit.

“Not a very busy day, my lady. About an average day.” He now and then slided into my lady, instead of ma’am, as an involuntary acknowledgment of Mrs. Sparsit’s personal dignity and claims to reverence.

“The clerks,” said Mrs. Sparsit, carefully brushing an imperceptible crumb of bread and butter from her left-hand mitten, “are trustworthy, punctual, and industrious, of course?”