Mrs. Bounderby left her husband's house, left it for good; not to share Mr. Harthouse's life, but to return to her father.
Mr. Gradgrind, released from parliament for a time, was alone in his study, when his eldest daughter entered.
"What is the matter, Louisa?"
"Father, I want to speak to you. You have trained me from my cradle?"
"Yes, Louisa."
"I curse the hour in which I was born to such a destiny. How could you give me life, and take from me all the things that raise it from the state of conscious death? Now, hear what I have come to say. With a hunger and a thirst upon me, father, which have never been for a moment appeased, in a condition where it seemed nothing could be worth the pain and trouble of a contest, you proposed my husband to me."
"I never knew you were unhappy, my child!"
"I took him. I never made a pretence to him or you that I loved him. I knew, and, father you knew, and he knew, that I never did. I was not wholly indifferent, for I had a hope of being pleasant and useful to Tom. But Tom had been the subject of all the little tenderness of my life, perhaps he became so because I knew so well how to pity him. It matters little now, except as it may dispose you to think more leniently of his errors."
"What can I do, child? Ask me what you will."
"I am coming to it. Father, chance has thrown into my way a new acquaintance; a man such as I had had no experience of--light, polished, easy. I only wondered it should be worth his while, who cared for nothing else, to care so much for me. It matters little how he gained my confidence. Father, he did gain it. What you know of the story of my marriage he soon knew just as well."