“In general much blacker,” returned Mrs. Sparsit, in her uncompromising way.

“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.