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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
140
“Will
you
look,
my
dear—
you
are
a
stranger
in
the
town,
and
it
won’t
give
rise
to
unpleasant
reports—
will
you
just
look
round
and
see
if
the
rector
is
here?
If
he
is,
I
think
we
may
conclude
that
this
wonderful
man
is
sanctioned
by
the
Church,
and
that
will
be
a
great
relief
to
my
mind.”
I
looked,
and
I
saw
the
tall,
thin,
dry,
dusty
rector,
sitting
surrounded
by
National
School
boys,
guarded
by
troops
of
his
own
sex
from
any
approach
of
the
many
Cranford
spinsters.
His
kind
face
was
all
agape
with
broad
smiles,
and
the
boys
around
him
were
in
chinks
of
laughing.
I
told
Miss
Matty
that
the
Church
was
smiling
approval,
which
set
her
mind
at
ease.
[Picture:
Afraid
of
matrimonial
reports]
I
have
never
named
Mr
Hayter,
the
rector,
because
I,
as
a
well-to-do
and
happy
young
woman,
never
came
in
contact
with
him.
He
was
an
old
bachelor,
but
as
afraid
of
matrimonial
reports
getting
abroad
about
him
as
any
girl
of
eighteen:
and
he
would
rush
into
a
shop
or
dive
down
an
entry,
sooner
than
encounter
any
of
the
Cranford
ladies
in
the
street;
and,
as
for
the
Preference
parties,
I
did
not
wonder
at
his
not
accepting
invitations
to
them.
To
tell
the
truth,
I
always
suspected
Miss
Pole
of
having
given
very
vigorous
chase
to
Mr
Hayter
when
he
first
came
to
Cranford;
and
not
the
less,
because
now
she
appeared
to
share
so
vividly
in
his
dread
lest
her
name
should
ever
be
coupled
with
his.
He
found
all
his
interests
among
the
poor
and
helpless;
he
had
treated
the
National
School
boys
this
very
night
to
the
performance;
and
virtue
was
for
once
its
own
reward,
for
they
guarded
him
right
and
left,
and
clung
round
him
as
if
he
had
been
the
queen-bee
and
they
the
swarm.
He
felt
so
safe
in
their
environment
that
he
could
even
afford
to
give
our
party
a
bow
as
we
filed
out.
Miss
Pole
ignored
his
presence,
and
pretended
to
be
absorbed
in
convincing
us
that
we
had
been
cheated,
and
had
not
seen
Signor
Brunoni
after
all.
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