"He spelt, and drawled over by syllables, the name—
"'Hareton Earnshaw."
"'And the figures?' I cried, encouragingly, perceiving that he came to a dead halt.
"'I cannot tell them yet,' he answered.
"'Oh, you dunce!' I said, laughing heartily at his failure.
The fool stared, with a grin hovering about his lips, and a scowl gathering over his eyes, as if uncertain whether he might not join in my mirth; whether it were not pleasant familiarity, or what it really was, contempt.
I settled his doubts by suddenly retrieving my gravity, and desiring him to walk away, for I came to see Linton not him.
He reddened—I saw that by the moonlight—dropped his hand from the latch, and skulked off, a picture of mortified vanity. He imagined himself to be as accomplished as Linton, I suppose, because he could spell his own name;
