“Bounderby,” returned Mr. Gradgrind, rising, “the less we say to-night the better, I think.”
“On the contrary, Tom Gradgrind, the more we say to-night, the better, I think. That is,” the consideration checked him, “till I have said all I mean to say, and then I don’t care how soon we stop. I come to a question that may shorten the business. What do you mean by the proposal you made just now?”
“What do I mean, Bounderby?”
“By your visiting proposition,” said Bounderby, with an inflexible jerk of the hayfield.
“I mean that I hope you may be induced to arrange in a friendly manner, for allowing Louisa a period of repose and reflection here, which may tend to a gradual alteration for the better in many respects.”
“To a softening down of your ideas of the incompatibility?” said Bounderby.
“If you put it in those terms.”
“What made you think of this?” said Bounderby.
“I have already said, I fear Louisa has not been understood. Is it asking too much, Bounderby, that you, so far her elder, should aid in trying to set her right? You have accepted a great charge of her; for better for worse, for – ”
Mr. Bounderby may have been annoyed by the repetition of his own words to Stephen Blackpool, but he cut the quotation short with an angry start.
“Come!” said he, “I don’t want to be told about that. I know what I took her for, as well as you do. Never you mind what I took her for; that’s my lookout.”
“I was merely going on to remark, Bounderby, that we may all be more or less in the wrong, not even excepting you; and that some yielding on your part, remembering the trust you have accepted, may not only be an act of true kindness, but perhaps a debt incurred towards Louisa.”
“I think differently,” blustered Bounderby. “I am going to finish this business according to my own opinions. Now, I don’t want to make a quarrel of it with you, Tom Gradgrind. To tell you the truth, I don’t think it would be worthy of my reputation to quarrel on such a subject. As to your gentleman-friend, he may take himself off, wherever he likes best. If he falls in my way, I shall tell him my mind; if he don’t fall in my way, I shan’t, for it won’t be worth my while to do it. As to your daughter, whom I made Loo Bounderby, and might have done better by leaving Loo Gradgrind, if she don’t come home to-morrow, by twelve o’clock at noon, I shall understand that she prefers to stay away, and I shall send her wearing apparel and so forth over here, and you’ll take charge of her for the future. What I shall say to people in general, of the incompatibility that led to my so laying down the law, will be this. I am Josiah Bounderby, and I had my bringing-up; she’s the daughter of Tom Gradgrind, and she had her bringing-up; and the two horses wouldn’t pull together. I am pretty well known to be rather an uncommon man, I believe: and most people will understand fast enough that it must be a woman rather out of the common, also, who, in the long run, would come up to my mark.”
“Let me seriously entreat you to reconsider this, Bounderby,” urged Mr. Gradgrind, “before you commit yourself to such a decision.”
“I always come to a decision,” said Bounderby, tossing his hat on: “and whatever I do, I do at once. I should be surprised at Tom Gradgrind’s addressing such a remark to Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, knowing what he knows of him, if I could be surprised by anything Tom Gradgrind did, after his making himself a party to sentimental humbug. I have given you my decision, and I have got no more to say. Good-night!”
So Mr. Bounderby went home to his town house to bed. At five minutes past twelve o’clock next day, he directed Mrs. Bounderby’s property to be carefully packed up and sent to Tom Gradgrind’s; advertised his country retreat for sale by private contract; and resumed a bachelor life.