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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
242
“I
suppose
I
forgot
dates
too,
Matty,
for
what
do
you
think
I
have
brought
for
you
from
India?
I
have
an
Indian
muslin
gown
and
a
pearl
necklace
for
you
somewhere
in
my
chest
at
Portsmouth.”
He
smiled
as
if
amused
at
the
idea
of
the
incongruity
of
his
presents
with
the
appearance
of
his
sister;
but
this
did
not
strike
her
all
at
once,
while
the
elegance
of
the
articles
did.
I
could
see
that
for
a
moment
her
imagination
dwelt
complacently
on
the
idea
of
herself
thus
attired;
and
instinctively
she
put
her
hand
up
to
her
throat—
that
little
delicate
throat
which
(as
Miss
Pole
had
told
me)
had
been
one
of
her
youthful
charms;
but
the
hand
met
the
touch
of
folds
of
soft
muslin
in
which
she
was
always
swathed
up
to
her
chin,
and
the
sensation
recalled
a
sense
of
the
unsuitableness
of
a
pearl
necklace
to
her
age.
She
said,
“I’m
afraid
I’m
too
old;
but
it
was
very
kind
of
you
to
think
of
it.
They
are
just
what
I
should
have
liked
years
ago—
when
I
was
young.”
“So
I
thought,
my
little
Matty.
I
remembered
your
tastes;
they
were
so
like
my
dear
mother’s.”
At
the
mention
of
that
name
the
brother
and
sister
clasped
each
other’s
hands
yet
more
fondly,
and,
although
they
were
perfectly
silent,
I
fancied
they
might
have
something
to
say
if
they
were
unchecked
by
my
presence,
and
I
got
up
to
arrange
my
room
for
Mr
Peter’s
occupation
that
night,
intending
myself
to
share
Miss
Matty’s
bed.
But
at
my
movement,
he
started
up.
“I
must
go
and
settle
about
a
room
at
the
‘George.’
My
carpet-bag
is
there
too.”
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