‘You can take one, Mr. Bounderby,’ returned Louisa, when she had coldly paused, and slowly walked across the room, and ungraciously raised her cheek towards him, with her face turned away.
‘Always my pet; ain’t you, Louisa?’ said Mr. Bounderby. ‘Good-bye, Louisa!’
He went his way, but she stood on the same spot, rubbing the cheek he had kissed, with her handkerchief, until it was burning red. She was still doing this, five minutes afterwards.
‘What are you about, Loo?’ her brother sulkily remonstrated. ‘You’ll rub a hole in your face.’
‘You may cut the piece out with your penknife if you like, Tom. I wouldn’t cry!’