and so common—seemed, he observed, a little to impress her in his favour. He followed up the advantage by saying in his pleasantest manner—a manner to which she might attach as much or as little meaning as she pleased—“The side that can prove anything in a line of units, tens, hundreds, and thousands, Mrs. Bounderby, seems to me to afford the most fun, and to give a man the best chance. I am quite as much attached to it as if I believed it. I am quite ready to go in for it, to the same extent as if I believed it. And what more could I possibly do, if I did believe it!”

“You are a singular politician,” said Louisa.

“Pardon me; I have not even that merit. We are the largest party in the state, I assure you, Mrs. Bounderby, if we all fell out of our adopted ranks and were reviewed together.”

Mr. Bounderby, who had been in danger of bursting in silence, interposed here with a project for postponing the family dinner till half-past six, and taking Mr. James Harthouse in the meantime on a round of visits to the voting and interesting notabilities of Coketown and its vicinity. The round of visits was made; and Mr. James Harthouse, with a discreet use of his blue coaching, came off triumphantly, though with a considerable accession of boredom.

In the evening, he found the dinner-table laid for four, but they sat down only three. It was an appropriate occasion for Mr. Bounderby to discuss the flavour of the ha’p’orth of stewed eels he had purchased in the streets at eight years old; and also of the inferior water, specially used for laying the dust, with which he had washed down that repast. He likewise entertained his guest over the soup and fish with the calculation that he (Bounderby) had eaten in his youth at least three horses under the guise of polonies and saveloys. These recitals, Jem, in a languid manner, received with “charming!” every now and then; and they probably would have decided him to “go in” for Jerusalem again tomorrow morning had he been less curious respecting Louisa.

“Is there nothing,” he thought, glancing at her as she sat at the head of the table, where her youthful figure, small and slight but very graceful, looked as pretty as it looked misplaced, “is there nothing that will move that face?”

Yes! By Jupiter, there was something, and here it was, in an unexpected shape. Tom appeared. She changed as the door opened, and broke into a beaming smile.

A beautiful smile. Mr. James Harthouse might not have thought so much of it but that he had wondered so long at her impassive face. She put out her hand—a pretty little soft hand—and her fingers closed upon her brother’s as if she would have carried them to her lips.

“Aye, aye?” thought the visitor. “This whelp is the only creature she cares for. So, so!”

The whelp was presented, and took his chair. The appellation was not flattering, but not unmerited.

“When I was your age, young Tom,” said Bounderby, “I was punctual or I got no dinner!”

“When you were my age,” returned Tom, “you hadn’t a wrong balance to get right, and hadn’t to dress afterwards.”

“Never mind that now,” said Bounderby.

“Well, then,” grumbled Tom. “Don’t begin with me.”

“Mrs. Bounderby,” said Harthouse, perfectly hearing this under-strain as it went on, “your brother’s face is quite familiar to me. Can I have seen him abroad? or at some public school, perhaps?”

“No,” she returned, quite interested, “he has never been abroad yet, and was educated here, at home. Tom, love, I am telling Mr. Harthouse that he never saw you abroad.”

“No such luck, sir,” said Tom.

There was little enough in him to brighten her face, for he was a sullen young fellow, and ungracious in his manner even to her. So much the greater must have been the solitude of her heart, and her need of someone on whom to bestow it. “So much the more is this whelp the only creature she has ever cared for,” thought Mr. James Harthouse, turning it over and over. “So much the more. So much the more.”

Both in his sister’s presence and after she had left the room, the whelp took no pains to hide his contempt for Mr. Bounderby, whenever he could indulge it without the observation of that independent man, by making wry faces, or shutting one eye. Without responding to these telegraphic communications, Mr. Harthouse encouraged him much