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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
106
After
tea
there
was
some
little
demur
and
difficulty.
We
were
six
in
number;
four
could
play
at
Preference,
and
for
the
other
two
there
was
Cribbage.
But
all,
except
myself
(I
was
rather
afraid
of
the
Cranford
ladies
at
cards,
for
it
was
the
most
earnest
and
serious
business
they
ever
engaged
in),
were
anxious
to
be
of
the
“pool.”
Even
Miss
Barker,
while
declaring
she
did
not
know
Spadille
from
Manille,
was
evidently
hankering
to
take
a
hand.
The
dilemma
was
soon
put
an
end
to
by
a
singular
kind
of
noise.
If
a
baron’s
daughter-in-law
could
ever
be
supposed
to
snore,
I
should
have
said
Mrs
Jamieson
did
so
then;
for,
overcome
by
the
heat
of
the
room,
and
inclined
to
doze
by
nature,
the
temptation
of
that
very
comfortable
arm-chair
had
been
too
much
for
her,
and
Mrs
Jamieson
was
nodding.
Once
or
twice
she
opened
her
eyes
with
an
effort,
and
calmly
but
unconsciously
smiled
upon
us;
but
by-and-by,
even
her
benevolence
was
not
equal
to
this
exertion,
and
she
was
sound
asleep.
[Picture:
The
temptation
of
the
comfortable
arm-chair
had
been
too
much
for
her]
“It
is
very
gratifying
to
me,”
whispered
Miss
Barker
at
the
card-table
to
her
three
opponents,
whom,
notwithstanding
her
ignorance
of
the
game,
she
was
“basting”
most
unmercifully—
“very
gratifying
indeed,
to
see
how
completely
Mrs
Jamieson
feels
at
home
in
my
poor
little
dwelling;
she
could
not
have
paid
me
a
greater
compliment.”
Miss
Barker
provided
me
with
some
literature
in
the
shape
of
three
or
four
handsomely-bound
fashion-books
ten
or
twelve
years
old,
observing,
as
she
put
a
little
table
and
a
candle
for
my
especial
benefit,
that
she
knew
young
people
liked
to
look
at
pictures.
Carlo
lay
and
snorted,
and
started
at
his
mistress’s
feet.
He,
too,
was
quite
at
home.
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