Cranford

“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.