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'This, sir,' said Bounderby, 'is my wife, Mrs. Bounderby: Tom
Gradgrind's eldest daughter. Loo, Mr. James Harthouse. Mr.
Harthouse has joined your father's muster-roll. If he is not Torn
Gradgrind's colleague before long, I believe we shall at least hear
of him in connexion with one of our neighbouring towns. You
observe, Mr. Harthouse, that my wife is my junior. I don't know
what she saw in me to marry me, but she saw something in me, I
suppose, or she wouldn't have married me. She has lots of
expensive knowledge, sir, political and otherwise. If you want to
cram for anything, I should be troubled to recommend you to a
better adviser than Loo Bounderby.'
To a more agreeable adviser, or one from whom he would be more
likely to learn, Mr. Harthouse could never be recommended.
'Come!' said his host. 'If you're in the complimentary line,
you'll get on here, for you'll meet with no competition. I have
never been in the way of learning compliments myself, and I don't
profess to understand the art of paying 'em.


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