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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
249
“Do
you
know,
little
Matty,
I
could
have
sworn
you
were
on
the
high
road
to
matrimony
when
I
left
England
that
last
time!
If
anybody
had
told
me
you
would
have
lived
and
died
an
old
maid
then,
I
should
have
laughed
in
their
faces.”
Miss
Matty
made
no
reply,
and
I
tried
in
vain
to
think
of
some
subject
which
should
effectually
turn
the
conversation;
but
I
was
very
stupid;
and
before
I
spoke
he
went
on—
“It
was
Holbrook,
that
fine
manly
fellow
who
lived
at
Woodley,
that
I
used
to
think
would
carry
off
my
little
Matty.
You
would
not
think
it
now,
I
dare
say,
Mary;
but
this
sister
of
mine
was
once
a
very
pretty
girl—
at
least,
I
thought
so,
and
so
I’ve
a
notion
did
poor
Holbrook.
What
business
had
he
to
die
before
I
came
home
to
thank
him
for
all
his
kindness
to
a
good-for-nothing
cub
as
I
was?
It
was
that
that
made
me
first
think
he
cared
for
you;
for
in
all
our
fishing
expeditions
it
was
Matty,
Matty,
we
talked
about.
Poor
Deborah!
What
a
lecture
she
read
me
on
having
asked
him
home
to
lunch
one
day,
when
she
had
seen
the
Arley
carriage
in
the
town,
and
thought
that
my
lady
might
call.
Well,
that’s
long
years
ago;
more
than
half
a
life-time,
and
yet
it
seems
like
yesterday!
I
don’t
know
a
fellow
I
should
have
liked
better
as
a
brother-in-law.
You
must
have
played
your
cards
badly,
my
little
Matty,
somehow
or
another—
wanted
your
brother
to
be
a
good
go-between,
eh,
little
one?”
said
he,
putting
out
his
hand
to
take
hold
of
hers
as
she
lay
on
the
sofa.
“Why,
what’s
this?
you’re
shivering
and
shaking,
Matty,
with
that
confounded
open
window.
Shut
it,
Mary,
this
minute!”
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