“And be here again next Thursday,” continued he, shunning her puzzled gaze. “And give him my thanks for permitting you to come⁠—my best thanks, Catherine. And⁠—and, if you did meet my father, and he asked you about me, don’t lead him to suppose that I’ve been extremely silent and stupid: don’t look sad and downcast, as you are doing⁠—he’ll be angry.”

“I care nothing for his anger,” exclaimed Cathy, imagining she would be its object.

“But I do,” said her cousin, shuddering. “ Don’t provoke him against me, Catherine, for he is very hard.”

“Is he severe to you, Master Heathcliff?” I inquired. “Has he grown weary of indulgence, and passed from passive to active hatred?”