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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
114
“Hush,
Martha!”
said
Miss
Matty,
“that’s
not
respectful.”
“Isn’t
it,
ma’am?
I
beg
pardon,
I’m
sure;
but
Jem
Hearn
said
so
as
well.
He
said,
she
was
just
such
a
sharp,
stirring
sort
of
a
body”—
“Lady,”
said
Miss
Pole.
“Lady—
as
Mrs
Deacon.”
Another
Sunday
passed
away,
and
we
still
averted
our
eyes
from
Mrs
Jamieson
and
her
guest,
and
made
remarks
to
ourselves
that
we
thought
were
very
severe—
almost
too
much
so.
Miss
Matty
was
evidently
uneasy
at
our
sarcastic
manner
of
speaking.
Perhaps
by
this
time
Lady
Glenmire
had
found
out
that
Mrs
Jamieson’s
was
not
the
gayest,
liveliest
house
in
the
world;
perhaps
Mrs
Jamieson
had
found
out
that
most
of
the
county
families
were
in
London,
and
that
those
who
remained
in
the
country
were
not
so
alive
as
they
might
have
been
to
the
circumstance
of
Lady
Glenmire
being
in
their
neighbourhood.
Great
events
spring
out
of
small
causes;
so
I
will
not
pretend
to
say
what
induced
Mrs
Jamieson
to
alter
her
determination
of
excluding
the
Cranford
ladies,
and
send
notes
of
invitation
all
round
for
a
small
party
on
the
following
Tuesday.
Mr
Mulliner
himself
brought
them
round.
He
would
always
ignore
the
fact
of
there
being
a
back
door
to
any
house,
and
gave
a
louder
rat-tat
than
his
mistress,
Mrs
Jamieson.
He
had
three
little
notes,
which
he
carried
in
a
large
basket,
in
order
to
impress
his
mistress
with
an
idea
of
their
great
weight,
though
they
might
easily
have
gone
into
his
waistcoat
pocket.
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