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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 in the course of the evening； and
showed an unusual liking for him。 At last； when he rose to return
to his hotel； and was a little doubtful whether he knew the way by
night； the whelp immediately proffered his services as guide； and
turned out with him to escort him thither。
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Chapter 3
The Whelp
t was very remarkable that a young gentleman who had been
brought up under one continuous system of unnatural
I
restraint； should be a hypocrite； but it was certainly the case
with Tom。 It was very strange that a young gentleman who had
never been left to his own guidance for five consecutive minutes；
should be incapable at last of governing himself； but so it was with
Tom。 It was altogether unaccountable that a young gentleman
whose imagination had been strangled in his cradle； should be still
inconvenienced by its ghost in the form of grovelling sensualities；
but such a monster； beyond all doubt； was Tom。
“Do you smoke？” asked Mr James Harthouse； when they came
to the hotel。
“I believe you！” said Tom。
He could do no less than ask Tom up； and Tom could do no less
than go up。 What with a cooling drink adapted to the weather； but
not so weak as cool； and what with a rarer tobacco than was to be
bought in those parts； Tom was soon in a highly free and easy
state at his end of the sofa； and more than ever disposed to admire
his new friend at the other end。
Tom blew his smoke aside； after he had been smoking a little
while； and took an observation of his friend。 “He don’t seem to
care about his dress；” thought Tom； “and yet how capitally he
does it。 What an easy swell he is！”
Mr James Harthouse； happening to catch Tom’s eye； remarked
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that he drank nothing； and filled his glass with his own negligent
hand。
“Thank’ee；” said Tom； “Thank’ee。 Well； Mr Harthouse； I hope
you have had about a dose of old Bounderby tonight。” Tom said
this with one eye shut up again； and looking over his glass
knowingly； at his entertainer。
“A very good fellow indeed！” returned Mr James Harthouse。
“You think so； don’t you？” said Tom。 And shut up his eye again。
Mr James Harthouse smiled； and rising from his end of the
sofa； and lounging with his back against the chimney…piece； so that
he stood before the empty fire…grate as he smoked； in front of Tom
and looking down at him； observed：
“What a comical brother…in…law you are！”
“What a comical brother…in…law old Bounderby is； I think you
mean；” said Tom。
“You are a piece of caustic； Tom；” retorted Mr James
Harthouse。
There was something so very agreeable in being so intimate
with such a waistcoat； in being called Tom； in such an intimate
way； by such a voice； in being on such offhand terms so soon； with
such a pair of whiskers； that Tom was uncommonly pleased with
himself。
“Oh！ I don’t care for old Bounderby；” said he； “if you mean that。
I have always called old Bounderby by the same name when I
have talked about him； and I have always thought of him in the
same way。 I am not going to begin to be polite now； about old
Bounderby。 It would be rather late in the day。”
“Don’t mind me；” returned James； “but take care when his wife
is by； you know。”
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“His wife？” said Tom。 “My sister Loo？ O yes！” And he laughed；
and took a little more of the cooling drink。
James Harthouse continued to lounge in the same place and
attitude； smoking his cigar in his own easy way； and looking
pleasantly at the whelp； as if he knew himself to be a kind of
agreeable demon who had only to hover over him； and he must
give up his whole soul if required。 It certainly did seem that the
whelp yielded to this influence。 He looked at his companion
sneakingly； he looked at him admiringly； he looked at him boldly；
and put up one leg on the sofa。
“My sister Loo？” said Tom； “She never cared for old
Bounderby。”
“That’s the past tense； Tom；” returned Mr James Harthouse；
striking the ash from his cigar with his little finger。 “We are in the
present tense； now。”
“Verb neuter； not to care。 Indicative mood； present tense。 First
person singular； I do not care； second person singular； thou dost
not care； third person singular； she does not care；” returned Tom。
“Good！ Very quaint！” said his friend。 “Though you don’t mean
it。”
“But I do mean it；” cried Tom。 “Upon my honour！ Why； you
won’t tell me； Mr Harthouse； that you really suppose my sister Loo
does care for old Bounderby。”
“My dear fellow；” returned the other； “what am I bound to
suppose； when I find two married people living in harmony and
happiness？”
Tom had by this time got both his legs on the sofa。 If his second
leg had not been already there when he was called a dear fellow；
he would have put it up at that great stage of the conversation。
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Feeling it necessary to do something then； he stretched himself
out at greater length； and； reclining with the back of his head on
the end of the sofa； and smoking with an infinite assumption of
negligence； turned his common face； and not too sober eyes；
towards the face looking down upon him so carelessly yet so
potently。
“You know our governor； Mr Harthouse；” said Tom； “and
therefore you needn’t be surprised that Loo married old
Bounderby。 She never had a lover； and the governor proposed old
Bounderby； and she took him。”
“Very dutiful in your interesting sister；” said Mr James
Harthouse。
“Yes； but she wouldn’t have been as dutiful； and it would not
have come off as easily；” returned the whelp； “if it hadn’t been for
me。”
The tempter merely lifted his eyebrows； but the whelp was
obliged to go on。
“I persuaded her；” he said； with an edifying air of superiority。 “I
was stuck into old Bounderby’s bank （where I never wanted to be）；
and I knew I should get into scrapes there； if she put old
Bounderby’s pipe out； so I told her my wishes； and she came into
them。 She would do anything for me。 It was very game of her；
wasn’t it？”
“It was charming； Tom！”
“Not that it was altogether so important