 so much of the
world, and thought, »Now, how am I to take this?«
    »You are going to devote yourself, as I gather from what Mr. Bounderby has
said, to the service of your country. You have made up your mind,« said Louisa,
still standing before him where she had first stopped - in all the singular
contrariety of her self-possession, and her being obviously very ill at ease -
»to show the nation the way out of all its difficulties.«
    »Mrs. Bounderby,« he returned, laughing, »upon my honour, no. I will make no
such pretence to you. I have seen a little, here and there, up and down; I have
found it all to be very worthless, as everybody has, and as some confess they
have, and some do not; and I am going in for your respected father's opinions -
really because I have no choice of opinions, and may as well back them as
anything else.«
    »Have you none of your own?« asked Louisa.
    »I have not so much as the slightest predilection left. I assure you I
attach not the least importance to any opinions. The result of the varieties of
boredom I have undergone, is a conviction (unless conviction is too industrious
a word for the lazy sentiment I entertain on the subject), that any set of ideas
will do just as much good as any other set, and just as much harm as any other
set. There's an English family with a charming Italian motto. What will be, will
be. It's the only truth going!«
    This vicious assumption of honesty in dishonesty - a vice so dangerous, so
deadly, 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
