 Why does Matilda feel she was being made fun of?
The best that could be said for Matilda Penshaws was that she was something of a paradox. The fact that in all probability such a man did not exist disturbed Matilda not in the least. Matilda, you see, had patience. She would read them carefully and then read them again, looking for the masculine names which, through a system known only to Matilda, had an affinity to her own. The first thing the widow Penshaws did was to take Matilda's left hand in her own and examine the next-to-the-last finger. Matilda admired her mother's use of the word osmosis, but she found nothing which was not objectionable about being unaware of the impact of love. Matilda switched her bed lamp on and dabbed some citronella on each ear lobe and a little droplet on her chin (how she hated insects!). Someone in Nebraska wanted to trade match books; someone in New York needed a midwestern pen pal, but it was a woman; an elderly man interested in ornithology wanted a young chick correspondent interested in the same subject; a young, personable man wanted an editorial position because he thought he had something to offer the editorial world; and— Matilda read the next one twice. The moon shone in through the window brightly, and at such times Matilda generally would get up, go to the cupboard, pull out a towel, take two hairpins from her powder drawer, pin the towel to the screen of her window, and hence keep the disturbing moonlight from her eyes. Cedar Falls was a small town not fifty miles from her home, and she'd get there a hop, skip, and jump ahead of her competitors, simply by arriving in person instead of writing a letter. Matilda was not yet that far gone in years or appearance. Matilda got out of bed at seven, tiptoed into the bathroom, showered with a merest wary trickle of water, tiptoed back into her bedroom, dressed in her very best cotton over the finest of uplifting and figure-moulding underthings, made sure her stocking seams were perfectly straight, brushed her suede shoes, admired herself in the mirror, read the ad again, wished for a moment she were a bit younger, and tiptoed downstairs. Then the widow Penshaws told Matilda that she could never hope to sneak about the house without her mother knowing about it, and that even if she were going out in response to one of those foolish ads in the magazines, she would still need a good breakfast to start with like only mother could cook.
 She thought Gorka was playing with her trusting nature by telling her lies.
 She though t Gorka was making up stories to appeal to her childish nature.  She thought Gorka was playing with her trusting nature by telling her lies.  She thought Gorka didn’t respe ct her enough,  She thought Gorka was trying to make her feel stupid by saying things she couldn’t disprove.