“Order Ellen to say you are engaged, Cathy,” he persisted; “don’t turn me out for those pitiful, silly friends of yours! I’m on the point, sometimes, of complaining that they⁠—but I’ll not⁠—”

“That they what?” cried Catherine, gazing at him with a troubled countenance. “Oh, Nelly!” she added petulantly, jerking her head away from my hands, “you’ve combed my hair quite out of curl! That’s enough; let me alone. What are you on the point of complaining about, Heathcliff?”

“Nothing⁠—only look at the almanac on that wall;” he pointed to a framed sheet hanging near the window, and continued, “The crosses are for the evenings you have spent with the Lintons, the dots for those spent with me. Do you see? I’ve marked every day.”

“Yes⁠—very foolish: as if I took notice!” replied Catherine, in a peevish tone. “And where is the sense of that?”