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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
137
We
stopped
short
at
the
second
front
row;
I
could
hardly
understand
why,
until
I
heard
Miss
Pole
ask
a
stray
waiter
if
any
of
the
county
families
were
expected;
and
when
he
shook
his
head,
and
believed
not,
Mrs
Forrester
and
Miss
Matty
moved
forwards,
and
our
party
represented
a
conversational
square.
The
front
row
was
soon
augmented
and
enriched
by
Lady
Glenmire
and
Mrs
Jamieson.
We
six
occupied
the
two
front
rows,
and
our
aristocratic
seclusion
was
respected
by
the
groups
of
shopkeepers
who
strayed
in
from
time
to
time
and
huddled
together
on
the
back
benches.
At
least
I
conjectured
so,
from
the
noise
they
made,
and
the
sonorous
bumps
they
gave
in
sitting
down;
but
when,
in
weariness
of
the
obstinate
green
curtain
that
would
not
draw
up,
but
would
stare
at
me
with
two
odd
eyes,
seen
through
holes,
as
in
the
old
tapestry
story,
I
would
fain
have
looked
round
at
the
merry
chattering
people
behind
me,
Miss
Pole
clutched
my
arm,
and
begged
me
not
to
turn,
for
“it
was
not
the
thing.”
What
“the
thing”
was,
I
never
could
find
out,
but
it
must
have
been
something
eminently
dull
and
tiresome.
However,
we
all
sat
eyes
right,
square
front,
gazing
at
the
tantalising
curtain,
and
hardly
speaking
intelligibly,
we
were
so
afraid
of
being
caught
in
the
vulgarity
of
making
any
noise
in
a
place
of
public
amusement.
Mrs
Jamieson
was
the
most
fortunate,
for
she
fell
asleep.
At
length
the
eyes
disappeared—
the
curtain
quivered—
one
side
went
up
before
the
other,
which
stuck
fast;
it
was
dropped
again,
and,
with
a
fresh
effort,
and
a
vigorous
pull
from
some
unseen
hand,
it
flew
up,
revealing
to
our
sight
a
magnificent
gentleman
in
the
Turkish
costume,
seated
before
a
little
table,
gazing
at
us
(I
should
have
said
with
the
same
eyes
that
I
had
last
seen
through
the
hole
in
the
curtain)
with
calm
and
condescending
dignity,
“like
a
being
of
another
sphere,”
as
I
heard
a
sentimental
voice
ejaculate
behind
me.
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