“Now, as you showed me in your face, Tom Gradgrind, that you wanted to speak to me,” he resumed, “here I am. But, I am not in a very agreeable state, I tell you plainly; not relishing this business, even as it is, and not considering that I am at any time as dutifully and submissively treated by your daughter, as Josiah Bounderby of Coketown ought to be treated by his wife. You have your opinion, I dare say; and I have mine, I know. If you mean to say anything to me to-night, that goes against this candid remark, you had better let it alone.”
Mr. Gradgrind, it will be observed, being much softened, Mr. Bounderby took particular pains to harden himself at all points. It was his amiable nature.
“My dear Bounderby,” Mr. Gradgrind began in reply.
“Now, you’ll excuse me,” said Bounderby, “but I don’t want to be too dear. That, to start with. When I begin to be dear to a man, I generally find that his intention is to come over me. I am not speaking to you politely; but, as you are aware, I am not polite. If you like politeness, you know where to get it. You have your gentleman-friends, you know, and they’ll serve you with as much of the article as you want. I don’t keep it myself.”
“Bounderby,” urged Mr. Gradgrind, “we are all liable to mistakes – ”
“I thought you couldn’t make ’em,” interrupted Bounderby.
“Perhaps I thought so. But I say we are all liable to mistakes; and I should feel sensible of your delicacy and grateful for it, if you would spare me these references to Harthouse. I shall not associate him in our conversation with your intimacy and encouragement; pray do not persist in connecting him with mine.”
“I never mentioned his name!” said Bounderby.
“Well, well!” returned Mr. Gradgrind, with a patient, even a submissive, air. And he sat for a little while pondering. “Bounderby, I see reason to doubt whether we have ever quite understood Louisa.”
“What do you mean by We?”
“Let me say I, then,” he returned, in answer to the coarsely blurted question; “I doubt whether I have understood Louisa. I doubt whether I have been quite right in the manner of her education.”
“There you hit it,” returned Bounderby. “There I agree with you. You have found it out at last, have you? Education! I’ll tell you what education is – To be tumbled out of doors, neck and crop, and put upon the shortest allowance of everything except blows. That’s what I call education.”
“I think your good sense will perceive,” Mr. Gradgrind remonstrated in all humility, “that whatever the merits of such a system may be, it would be difficult of general application to girls.”
“I don’t see it at all, sir,” returned the obstinate Bounderby.
“Well,” sighed Mr. Gradgrind, “we will not enter into the question. I assure you I have no desire to be controversial. I seek to repair what is amiss, if I possibly can; and I hope you will assist me in a good spirit, Bounderby, for I have been very much distressed.”
“I don’t understand you yet,” said Bounderby, with determined obstinacy, “and therefore I won’t make any promises.”
“In the course of a few hours, my dear Bounderby,” Mr. Gradgrind proceeded in the same depressed and propitiatory manner, “I appear to myself to have become better informed as to Louisa’s character, than in previous years. The enlightenment has been painfully forced upon me, and the discovery is not mine. I think there are – Bounderby, you will be surprised to hear me say this – I think there are qualities in Louisa, which – which have been harshly neglected, and – and a little perverted. And – and I would suggest to you, that – that if you would kindly meet me in a timely endeavour to leave her to her better nature for a while – and to encourage it to develope itself by tenderness and consideration – it – it would be the better for the happiness of all of us. Louisa,” said Mr. Gradgrind, shading his face with his hand, “has always been my favourite child.”