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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
195
“I
am
afraid,”
said
she,
hesitating,
“whichever
I
choose
I
shall
wish
I
had
taken
another.
Look
at
this
lovely
crimson!
it
would
be
so
warm
in
winter.
But
spring
is
coming
on,
you
know.
I
wish
I
could
have
a
gown
for
every
season,”
said
she,
dropping
her
voice—
as
we
all
did
in
Cranford
whenever
we
talked
of
anything
we
wished
for
but
could
not
afford.
“However,”
she
continued
in
a
louder
and
more
cheerful
tone,
“it
would
give
me
a
great
deal
of
trouble
to
take
care
of
them
if
I
had
them;
so,
I
think,
I’ll
only
take
one.
But
which
must
it
be,
my
dear?”
And
now
she
hovered
over
a
lilac
with
yellow
spots,
while
I
pulled
out
a
quiet
sage-green
that
had
faded
into
insignificance
under
the
more
brilliant
colours,
but
which
was
nevertheless
a
good
silk
in
its
humble
way.
Our
attention
was
called
off
to
our
neighbour.
He
had
chosen
a
shawl
of
about
thirty
shillings’
value;
and
his
face
looked
broadly
happy,
under
the
anticipation,
no
doubt,
of
the
pleasant
surprise
he
would
give
to
some
Molly
or
Jenny
at
home;
he
had
tugged
a
leathern
purse
out
of
his
breeches-pocket,
and
had
offered
a
five-pound
note
in
payment
for
the
shawl,
and
for
some
parcels
which
had
been
brought
round
to
him
from
the
grocery
counter;
and
it
was
just
at
this
point
that
he
attracted
our
notice.
The
shopman
was
examining
the
note
with
a
puzzled,
doubtful
air.
“Town
and
County
Bank!
I
am
not
sure,
sir,
but
I
believe
we
have
received
a
warning
against
notes
issued
by
this
bank
only
this
morning.
I
will
just
step
and
ask
Mr
Johnson,
sir;
but
I’m
afraid
I
must
trouble
you
for
payment
in
cash,
or
in
a
note
of
a
different
bank.”
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