Mr. Bounderby, with his hands in his pockets, walked in impatient mortification up and down at the side of the long dining-table, while the spectators greedily took in every syllable of Mrs. Pegler’s appeal, and at each succeeding syllable became more and more round-eyed. Mr. Bounderby still walking up and down when Mrs. Pegler had done, Mr. Gradgrind addressed that maligned old lady:
‘ I am surprised, madam,’ he observed with severity, ‘that in your old age you have the face to claim Mr. Bounderby for your son, after your unnatural and inhuman treatment of him.’
‘ Me unnatural!’ cried poor old Mrs. Pegler. ‘Me inhuman! To my dear boy?’
‘ Dear!’ repeated Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Yes; dear in his self-made prosperity, madam, I dare say. Not very dear, however, when you deserted him in his
