Wuthering Heights

“Come in, that’s right!” exclaimed the mistress, gaily, pulling a chair
to the fire. “Here are two people sadly in need of a third to thaw the
ice between them; and you are the very one we should both of us choose.
Heathcliff, I’m proud to show you, at last, somebody that dotes on you
more than myself. I expect you to feel flattered. Nay, it’s not Nelly;
don’t look at her! My poor little sister-in-law is breaking her heart
by mere contemplation of your physical and moral beauty. It lies in
your own power to be Edgar’s brother! No, no, Isabella, you sha’n’t run
off,” she continued, arresting, with feigned playfulness, the
confounded girl, who had risen indignantly. “We were quarrelling like
cats about you, Heathcliff; and I was fairly beaten in protestations of
devotion and admiration: and, moreover, I was informed that if I would
but have the manners to stand aside, my rival, as she will have herself
to be, would shoot a shaft into your soul that would fix you for ever,
and send my image into eternal oblivion!”

“Catherine!” said Isabella, calling up her dignity, and disdaining to
struggle from the tight grasp that held her, “I’d thank you to adhere
to the truth and not slander me, even in joke! Mr. Heathcliff, be kind