"Oh, I'll ask _you_, uncle," cried Miss Cathy, recollecting the housekeeper's assertion. "That is not my cousin, is he?"
"Yes," he, replied, "your mother's nephew. Don't you like him!"
Catherine looked queer.
"Is he not a handsome lad?" he continued.
The uncivil little thing stood on tiptoe, and whispered a sentence in Heathcliff's ear. He laughed; Hareton darkened: I perceived he was very sensitive to suspected slights, and had obviously a dim notion of his inferiority. But his master or guardian chased the frown by exclaiming-

'Oh, uncle,' cried Miss Cathy. 'That is not my cousin, is he?'
'Yes,' Heathcliff replied, 'your mother's nephew. Don't you like him? Is he not a handsome lad?'
The uncivil little thing stood on tiptoe, and whispered in Heathcliff's ear. He laughed; Hareton darkened: I saw that he was very sensitive to slights, and had a dim notion of his inferiority. But his master exclaimed:
