“Father, I want to speak to you.”

“What is the matter? How strange you look! And good Heaven,” said Mr. Gradgrind, wondering more and more, “have you come here exposed to this storm?”

She put her hands to her dress, as if she hardly knew. “Yes.” Then she uncovered her head, and letting her cloak and hood fall where they might, stood looking at him: so colourless, so dishevelled, so defiant and despairing, that he was afraid of her.

“What is it? I conjure you, Louisa, tell me what is the matter.”

She dropped into a chair before him, and put her cold hand on his arm.

“Father, you have trained me from my cradle?”

“Yes, Louisa.”