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`Heathcliff, you may come forward,' cried Mr Hindley, enjoying his discomfiture, and gratified to see what a forbidding young blackguard he would be compelled to present himself. `You may come and wish Miss Catherine welcome, like the other servants.'
Cathy, catching a glimpse of her friend in his concealment, flew to embrace him; she bestowed seven or eight kisses on his cheek within the second, and then stopped, and drawing back, burst into a laugh, exclaiming, `Why, how very black and cross you look! and how--how funny and grim! But that's because I'm used to Edgar and Isabella Linton. Well, Heathcliff, have you forgotten me?'
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She had some reason to put the question, for shame and pride threw double gloom over his countenance, and kept him immovable.
`Shake hands, Heathcliff,' said Mr Earnshaw, condescendingly; `once in a way, that is permitted.'
`I shall not,' replied the boy, finding his tongue at last; `I shall not stand to be laughed at. I shall not bear it!'
And he would have broken from the circle, but Miss Cathy seized him again.
`I did not mean to laugh at you,' she said; `I could not hinder myself: Heathcliff, shake hands at least! What are you sulky for? It was only that you looked odd. If you wash your face and brush your hair, it will be all right: but you are so dirty!'
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