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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
61
Not
at
all,
I
thought;
but
I
did
not
say
anything.
I
felt
almost
guilty
of
having
spied
too
curiously
into
that
tender
heart,
and
I
was
not
going
to
speak
of
its
secrets—
hidden,
Miss
Matty
believed,
from
all
the
world.
I
ushered
Miss
Pole
into
Miss
Matilda’s
little
drawing-room,
and
then
left
them
alone.
But
I
was
not
surprised
when
Martha
came
to
my
bedroom
door,
to
ask
me
to
go
down
to
dinner
alone,
for
that
missus
had
one
of
her
bad
headaches.
She
came
into
the
drawing-room
at
tea-time,
but
it
was
evidently
an
effort
to
her;
and,
as
if
to
make
up
for
some
reproachful
feeling
against
her
late
sister,
Miss
Jenkyns,
which
had
been
troubling
her
all
the
afternoon,
and
for
which
she
now
felt
penitent,
she
kept
telling
me
how
good
and
how
clever
Deborah
was
in
her
youth;
how
she
used
to
settle
what
gowns
they
were
to
wear
at
all
the
parties
(faint,
ghostly
ideas
of
grim
parties,
far
away
in
the
distance,
when
Miss
Matty
and
Miss
Pole
were
young!);
and
how
Deborah
and
her
mother
had
started
the
benefit
society
for
the
poor,
and
taught
girls
cooking
and
plain
sewing;
and
how
Deborah
had
once
danced
with
a
lord;
and
how
she
used
to
visit
at
Sir
Peter
Arley’s,
and
tried
to
remodel
the
quiet
rectory
establishment
on
the
plans
of
Arley
Hall,
where
they
kept
thirty
servants;
and
how
she
had
nursed
Miss
Matty
through
a
long,
long
illness,
of
which
I
had
never
heard
before,
but
which
I
now
dated
in
my
own
mind
as
following
the
dismissal
of
the
suit
of
Mr
Holbrook.
So
we
talked
softly
and
quietly
of
old
times
through
the
long
November
evening.
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