“Catherine and Edgar are as fond of each other as any two people can be,” cried Isabella, with sudden vivacity. “No one has a right to talk in that manner, and I won’t hear my brother depreciated in silence!”

“Your brother is wondrous fond of you too, isn’t he?” observed Heathcliff, scornfully. “He turns you adrift on the world with surprising alacrity.”

“He is not aware of what I suffer,” she replied. “I didn’t tell him that.”

“You have been telling him something, then: you have written, have you?”

“To say that I was married, I did write⁠—you saw the note.”

“And nothing since?”

“No.”