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Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
47
“Oh,
I
don’t
know.
She
was
willing
enough,
I
think;
but
you
know
Cousin
Thomas
would
not
have
been
enough
of
a
gentleman
for
the
rector
and
Miss
Jenkyns.”
“Well!
but
they
were
not
to
marry
him,”
said
I,
impatiently.
“No;
but
they
did
not
like
Miss
Matty
to
marry
below
her
rank.
You
know
she
was
the
rector’s
daughter,
and
somehow
they
are
related
to
Sir
Peter
Arley:
Miss
Jenkyns
thought
a
deal
of
that.”
“Poor
Miss
Matty!”
said
I.
“Nay,
now,
I
don’t
know
anything
more
than
that
he
offered
and
was
refused.
Miss
Matty
might
not
like
him—
and
Miss
Jenkyns
might
never
have
said
a
word—
it
is
only
a
guess
of
mine.”
“Has
she
never
seen
him
since?”
I
inquired.
“No,
I
think
not.
You
see
Woodley,
Cousin
Thomas’s
house,
lies
half-way
between
Cranford
and
Misselton;
and
I
know
he
made
Misselton
his
market-town
very
soon
after
he
had
offered
to
Miss
Matty;
and
I
don’t
think
he
has
been
into
Cranford
above
once
or
twice
since—
once,
when
I
was
walking
with
Miss
Matty,
in
High
Street,
and
suddenly
she
darted
from
me,
and
went
up
Shire
Lane.
A
few
minutes
after
I
was
startled
by
meeting
Cousin
Thomas.”
“How
old
is
he?”
I
asked,
after
a
pause
of
castle-building.
“He
must
be
about
seventy,
I
think,
my
dear,”
said
Miss
Pole,
blowing
up
my
castle,
as
if
by
gun-powder,
into
small
fragments.
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