"So let me get this straight," Barbara said, "You want me to find someone for that weird guy to marry?".
Jeffrey approached the countertop at which his sister was working. "No, no, I don't need you to find him a wife, I just need help making him...well...normal enough for...".
"...for a woman to not run away screaming?" Barbara snipped at the rose stems automatically.
"That's a little on the mean side, isn't it Barbie?"
Barbara paused, "Well, no, not really. Keep in mind that I've actually met this guy before. He's not a bad man, I know, but he is so strange and formal and...just weird."
Jeffrey pulled a stem from the cloud of baby's breath near him. He knew his sister. She was feeling bad for calling Heathcliff names, a sign that it was time to go in for the kill and get her commitment to help. "Yes, poor guy, I know what you mean. I just feel so bad for him." That was a stretch. "I mean, if you had just heard the way he spoke of having a family to call his own. He's really very lonely." Also a stretch. Now time to pull the trigger. "I just kept thinking the whole time, if it were me..." Making himself tear up just a little, he continued, "If it were me, all alone in the city, without mother or sister to turn to, lonely, uncertain, with only the best of intentions, I sure would wish that someone would be able to find a few minutes," he paused here, looking toward the window, letting the sunlight shine on his upturned face. "Just a little time to help change my life...and help me to be happy forever." In his dramatic fervor, the flower had been snapped in half and lay now in Jeffrey's clenched, tear-dampened fist. It was quite a performance. Worse actors than Jeffrey grace the red carpets on a regular basis.
Barbara eyed him suspiciously. She had the sneaking feeling that he was trying to manipulate her, for after all, she knew her brother and his lack of imaginatory zeal. However, his words had stirred a feeling of mild regret for her harsh opinion of Heathcliff. And so it was, out of regret, kindness, a cautious helpfulness, and perhaps even a little curiosity, she assented.
"I guess he'll just be my own little 'Pygmalian' project," the practical Barbara hypothesized aloud.
Jeffrey, happy with his maneuvering, was leaving. "Come on, Barbie. Just go out with him a couple times and teach him some manners. There's no reason to call him a pig!" he shouted from the vomitorium.