"Who is his master?" continued the tiresome girl, appealing to me. "He talked about 'our house,' and 'our folk.' I thought he had been the owner's son. And he never said Miss: he should have done, shouldn't he, if he's a servant?"
Hareton grew black as a thunder-cloud at this childish speech. I silently shook my questioner, and at last succeeded in equipping her for departure.

'Who is his master?' continued the tiresome girl, appealing to me. 'He talked about "our house," and "our folk." I thought he was the owner's son. And he never said Miss: he should have done, shouldn't he, if he's a servant?'
Hareton grew black as a thunder-cloud at this. I silently shook Catherine, and put her hat on her head.
