"O indeed? Still," said Mr. Gradgrind,
"I need not point out to you, Louisa, that it
is governed by the laws which govern lives
in the aggregate."

"While it lasts, I would wish to do the
little I can, and the little I am fit for. What
does it matter!"

Mr. Gradgrind seemed rather at a loss to
understand the last four words; replying,
"How, matter? What, matter, my dear?"

"Mr. Bounderby," she went on in a steady,
straight way, without regarding this, "asks
me to marry him. The question I have to
ask myself is, shall I marry him? That is
so, father, is it not? You have told me so,
father. Have you not?"

"Certainly, my dear."

"Let it be so. Since Mr. Bounderby likes
to take me thus, I am satisfied to accept his
proposal. Tell him, father, as soon as you
please, that this was my answer. Repeat it,
word for word, if you can, because I should
wish him to know what I said."

"It is quite right, my dear," retorted her
father approvingly, "to be exact. I will
observe your very proper request. Have you
any wish, in reference to the period of your
marriage, my child?"

"None, father. What does it matter!"

Mr. Gradgrind had drawn his chair a little
nearer to her, and taken her hand. But, her
repetition of these words seemed to strike
with some little discord on his ear. He
paused to look at her, and, still holding her
hand, said:

"Louisa, I have not considered it essential
to ask you one question, because the
possibility implied in it appeared to me to be too
remote. But, perhaps I ought to do so. You
have never entertained in secret any other
proposal?"

"Father," she returned, almost scornfully,
"what other proposal can have been made to
me? Whom have I seen? Where have I
been? What are my heart's experiences?"

"My dear Louisa," returned Mr. Gradgrind,
re-assured and satisfied, "you correct
me justly. I merely wished to discharge my
duty."

"What do I know, father," said Louisa in
her quiet manner, "of tastes and fancies; of
aspirations and affections; of all that part of
my nature in which such light things might
have been nourished? What escape have I
had from problems that could be demonstrated,
and realities that could be grasped?" As she
said it, she unconsciously closed her hand, as
if upon a solid object, and slowly opened it
as though she were releasing dust or ash.

"My dear," assented her eminently
practical parent, "quite true, quite true."

"Why, father," she pursued, " what
a strange question to ask me! The baby-
preference that even I have heard of as
common among children, has never had its innocent
resting-place in my breast. You have been
so careful of me, that I never had a child's
heart. You have trained me so well, that I
never dreamed a child's dream. You have
dealt so wisely with me, father, from my
cradle to this hour, that I never had a child's
belief or a child's fear."

Mr. Gradgrind was quite moved by his
success, and by this testimony to it. "My
dear Louisa." said he, "you abundantly repay
my care. Kiss me, my dear girl."

So, his daughter kissed him. Detaining
her in his embrace, he said, "I may assure
you now, my favourite child, that I am made
happy by the sound decision at which you
have arrived. Mr. Bounderby is a very
remarkable man; and what little disparity can
be said to exist between you—if any—is more
than counterbalanced by the tone your mind
has acquired. It has always been my object
so to educate you, as that you might, while still
in your early youth, be (if I may so express
myself) almost any age. Kiss me once more,
Louisa. Now, let us go and find your
mother."

Accordingly, they went down to the
drawing-room, where the esteemed lady with no
nonsense about her was recumbent as usual,
while Sissy worked beside her. She gave
some feeble signs of returning animation
when they entered, and presently the faint
transparency was presented in a sitting
attitude.

"Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband, who
had waited for the achievement of this feat
with some impatience, "allow me to present
to you Mrs. Bounderby."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Gradgrind, "so you have
settled it! Well, I am sure I hope your
health may be good, Louisa; for if your
head begins to split as soon as you are
married, which was the case with mine, I
cannot consider that you are to be envied,
though I have no doubt you think you are,
as all girls do. However, I give you joy, my
dear—and I hope you may now turn all your
ological studies to good account, I am
sure I do! I must give you a kiss of
congratulation, Louisa; but  don't touch
my right shoulder, for there's something
running down it all day long. And now
you see," whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind,
adjusting her shawls after the affectionate
ceremony, "I shall be worrying myself,
morning, noon, and night, to know what I am
to call him!"

"Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband,
solemnly, "what do you mean?"

"Whatever I am to call him, Mr.
Gradgrind, when he is married to Louisa! I
must call him something. It's impossible,"
said Mrs. Gradgrind, with a mingled sense of
politeness and injury, "to be constantly
addressing him, and never giving him a name.
I cannot call him Josiah, for the name is
insupportable to me. You yourself wouldn't
hear of Joe, you very well know.  Am I to
call my own son-in-law, Mister? Not, I
believe, unless the time has arrived when, as an