Cranford

The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss Matty. She looked at him with a dubious air. “Perhaps so,” said she. “But I don’t pretend to understand business; I only know that if it is going to fail, and if honest people are to lose their money because they have taken our notes— I can’t explain myself,” said she, suddenly becoming aware that she had got into a long sentence with four people for audience; “only I would rather exchange my gold for the note, if you please,” turning to the farmer, “and then you can take your wife the shawl. It is only going without my gown a few days longer,” she continued, speaking to me. “Then, I have no doubt, everything will be cleared up.” “But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said I. “Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, as a shareholder, to have given this good man the money. I am quite clear about it in my own mind; but, you know, I can never speak quite as comprehensibly as others can, only you must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please, and go on with your purchases with these sovereigns.” [Picture: You must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please] The man looked at her with silent gratitude— too awkward to put his thanks into words; but he hung back for a minute or two, fumbling with his note. “I’m loth to make another one lose instead of me, if it is a loss; but, you see, five pounds is a deal of money to a man with a family; and, as you say, ten to one in a day or two the note will be as good as gold again.”