Peace to Cranford

It was not surprising that Mr Peter became such a favourite at Cranford. The ladies vied with each other who should admire him most; and no wonder, for their quiet lives were astonishingly stirred up by the arrival from India—especially as the person arrived told more wonderful stories than Sindbad the Sailor; and, as Miss Pole said, was quite as good as an Arabian Night any evening. For my own part, I had vibrated all my life between Drumble and Cranford, and I thought it was quite possible that all Mr Peter’s stories might be true, although wonderful; but when I found that, if we swallowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude one week, we had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to have my doubts; especially as I noticed that when his sister was present the accounts of Indian life were comparatively tame; not that she knew more than we did, perhaps less. I noticed also that when the rector came to call, Mr Peter talked in a different way about the countries he had been in. But I don’t think the ladies in Cranford would have considered him such a wonderful traveller if they had only heard him talk in the quiet way he did to him. They liked him the better, indeed, for being what they called “so very Oriental.”

It was no surprise that Mr Peter became such a favourite in Cranford. The ladies competed to see who could admire him most. And no wonder, for his arrival from India had stirred up their quiet lives remarkably. He told more wonderful stories than Sindbad the Sailor. As Miss Pole said, he was as good as an Arabian Night on any evening. For my part, I had spent my whole life going back and forth between Drumble and Cranford. I thought all Mr Peter’s stories might be true, wonderful as they were. But I began to have my doubts. If we swallowed a fairly large story one week, he gave us a considerably larger dose the next. I was especially doubtful because his accounts of Indian life were comparatively tame when his sister was present. It was not that she knew more than we did. Perhaps she knew less. I also noticed that Mr Peter spoke differently about the countries he had visited when the rector came to call. But I don’t think the ladies of Cranford would have considered him such a wonderful traveller if they had only heard him speak to the rector in that quiet way. Indeed, they liked him all the better for being what they called “so very Oriental.”

One day, at a select party in his honour, which Miss Pole gave, and from which, as Mrs Jamieson honoured it with her presence, and had even offered to send Mr Mulliner to wait, Mr and Mrs Hoggins and Mrs Fitz-Adam were necessarily excluded—one day at Miss Pole’s, Mr Peter said he was tired of sitting upright against the hard-backed uneasy chairs, and asked if he might not indulge himself in sitting cross-legged. Miss Pole’s consent was eagerly given, and down he went with the utmost gravity. But when Miss Pole asked me, in an audible whisper, “if he did not remind me of the Father of the Faithful?” I could not help thinking of poor Simon Jones, the lame tailor, and while Mrs Jamieson slowly commented on the elegance and convenience of the attitude, I remembered how we had all followed that lady’s lead in condemning Mr Hoggins for vulgarity because he simply crossed his legs as he sat still on his chair. Many of Mr Peter’s ways of eating were a little strange amongst such ladies as Miss Pole, and Miss Matty, and Mrs Jamieson, especially when I recollected the untasted green peas and two-pronged forks at poor Mr Holbrook’s dinner.

One day, Miss Pole gave a small, exclusive party in Mr Peter’s honour. Mrs Jamieson honoured the party with her presence and had even offered to send Mr Mulliner to serve. As a result, Mr and Mrs Hoggins and Mrs Fitz-Adam were necessarily excluded. At the party, Mr Peter said he was tired of sitting upright in the hard-backed, uncomfortable chairs. He asked if he might sit cross-legged instead. Miss Pole eagerly gave her consent, and he sat down on the floor with the utmost seriousness. But Miss Pole asked me, in a whisper everyone could hear, “doesn’t he remind you of the Father of the Faithful?” I could not help thinking of poor Simon Jones, the lame tailor. Mrs Jamieson slowly remarked on how elegant and convenient the position was. I remembered how we had all followed her lead in condemning Mr Hoggins as vulgar. He had simply crossed his legs while sitting in his chair. Many of Mr Peter’s eating habits were a little strange among ladies like Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and Mrs Jamieson. They seemed especially strange when I remembered the untouched green peas and two-pronged forks at poor Mr Holbrook’s dinner.

The mention of that gentleman’s name recalls to my mind a conversation between Mr Peter and Miss Matty one evening in the summer after he returned to Cranford. The day had been very hot, and Miss Matty had been much oppressed by the weather, in the heat of which her brother revelled. I remember that she had been unable to nurse Martha’s baby, which had become her favourite employment of late, and which was as much at home in her arms as in its mother’s, as long as it remained a light-weight, portable by one so fragile as Miss Matty. This day to which I refer, Miss Matty had seemed more than usually feeble and languid, and only revived when the sun went down, and her sofa was wheeled to the open window, through which, although it looked into the principal street of Cranford, the fragrant smell of the neighbouring hayfields came in every now and then, borne by the soft breezes that stirred the dull air of the summer twilight, and then died away. The silence of the sultry atmosphere was lost in the murmuring noises which came in from many an open window and door; even the children were abroad in the street, late as it was (between ten and eleven), enjoying the game of play for which they had not had spirits during the heat of the day. It was a source of satisfaction to Miss Matty to see how few candles were lighted, even in the apartments of those houses from which issued the greatest signs of life. Mr Peter, Miss Matty, and I had all been quiet, each with a separate reverie, for some little time, when Mr Peter broke in—

The mention of that gentleman’s name reminds me of a conversation between Mr Peter and Miss Matty. It took place one summer evening after he returned to Cranford. The day had been very hot, and Miss Matty had suffered greatly from the heat, which her brother enjoyed. I remember that she had been unable to hold Martha’s baby, her favourite occupation lately. The baby was as much at home in her arms as in its mother’s, as long as it remained light enough for someone as fragile as Miss Matty to carry. That day, Miss Matty had seemed weaker and more listless than usual. She only revived when the sun went down and her sofa was wheeled to the open window. Although the window looked onto Cranford’s main street, the scent of nearby hayfields drifted in now and then. Soft breezes carried it through the still air of the summer twilight, then died away. The sultry stillness was broken by murmurs coming from many open windows and doors. Even the children were out in the street, late as it was, between ten and eleven. They were enjoying games they had not had the energy to play during the heat of the day. Miss Matty was pleased to see how few candles were lit, even in the rooms of the liveliest houses. Mr Peter, Miss Matty, and I had all been quiet for some time, each lost in thought, when Mr Peter spoke:

“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.”

“Do you know, little Matty, I could have sworn you were on your way to getting married when I last left England! If anyone had told me then that you would live and die unmarried, I would have laughed in their face.”

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—

Miss Matty said nothing, and I tried in vain to think of a subject that would change the conversation. But I was very stupid, and before I could speak, 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!”

“It was Holbrook, that fine, manly fellow who lived at Woodley, who I used to think would win my little Matty. You might not think so now, Mary, but my sister here was once a very pretty girl. At least, I thought so, and I believe poor Holbrook did too. What business had he dying before I came home to thank him for all his kindness to a good-for-nothing youngster like me? That kindness was what first made me think he cared for you. On all our fishing trips, we talked about Matty, Matty. Poor Deborah! What a lecture she gave me for asking him home to lunch one day! She had seen the Arley carriage in town and thought that my lady might call. Well, that was many years ago, more than half a lifetime, and yet it seems like yesterday! I don’t know anyone I would have liked better as a brother-in-law. You must have played your cards badly somehow, my little Matty. You needed your brother to help bring you together, eh, little one?” he said, reaching for her hand as she lay on the sofa. “Why, what’s this? You’re shivering and shaking, Matty, because of that confounded open window. Shut it, Mary, this minute!”

I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, and see if she really were chilled. She caught at my hand, and gave it a hard squeeze—but unconsciously, I think—for in a minute or two she spoke to us quite in her usual voice, and smiled our uneasiness away, although she patiently submitted to the prescriptions we enforced of a warm bed and a glass of weak negus. I was to leave Cranford the next day, and before I went I saw that all the effects of the open window had quite vanished. I had superintended most of the alterations necessary in the house and household during the latter weeks of my stay. The shop was once more a parlour: the empty resounding rooms again furnished up to the very garrets.

I did so, then bent down to kiss Miss Matty and see if she really was chilled. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard. But I think she did so without realizing it. Within a minute or two, she spoke to us in her usual voice and smiled away our worries. Even so, she patiently accepted the remedies we insisted on: a warm bed and a glass of weak negus. I was to leave Cranford the next day. Before I left, I saw that all the effects of the open window had completely disappeared. During the last few weeks of my stay, I had overseen most of the necessary changes to the house and household. The shop was a sitting room once more. The empty, echoing rooms were furnished again, right up to the attic rooms.

There had been some talk of establishing Martha and Jem in another house, but Miss Matty would not hear of this. Indeed, I never saw her so much roused as when Miss Pole had assumed it to be the most desirable arrangement. As long as Martha would remain with Miss Matty, Miss Matty was only too thankful to have her about her; yes, and Jem too, who was a very pleasant man to have in the house, for she never saw him from week’s end to week’s end. And as for the probable children, if they would all turn out such little darlings as her god-daughter, Matilda, she should not mind the number, if Martha didn’t. Besides, the next was to be called Deborah—a point which Miss Matty had reluctantly yielded to Martha’s stubborn determination that her first-born was to be Matilda. So Miss Pole had to lower her colours, and even her voice, as she said to me that, as Mr and Mrs Hearn were still to go on living in the same house with Miss Matty, we had certainly done a wise thing in hiring Martha’s niece as an auxiliary.

There had been some talk of finding another house for Martha and Jem, but Miss Matty would not hear of it. Indeed, I had never seen her so stirred up as when Miss Pole assumed it was the best arrangement. As long as Martha would stay with Miss Matty, Miss Matty was only too grateful to have her there. And Jem too. He was a very pleasant man to have in the house, for she never saw him from one week to the next. As for the children they would probably have, if they all turned out to be little darlings like her goddaughter Matilda, she would not mind how many there were, if Martha did not. Besides, the next child was to be called Deborah. Miss Matty had reluctantly agreed to this after Martha stubbornly insisted that her firstborn should be called Matilda. So Miss Pole had to give in, and even lower her voice. She told me that, since Mr and Mrs Hearn were to keep living with Miss Matty, we had certainly been wise to hire Martha’s niece to help.

I left Miss Matty and Mr Peter most comfortable and contented; the only subject for regret to the tender heart of the one, and the social friendly nature of the other, being the unfortunate quarrel between Mrs Jamieson and the plebeian Hogginses and their following. In joke, I prophesied one day that this would only last until Mrs Jamieson or Mr Mulliner were ill, in which case they would only be too glad to be friends with Mr Hoggins; but Miss Matty did not like my looking forward to anything like illness in so light a manner, and before the year was out all had come round in a far more satisfactory way.

I left Miss Matty and Mr Peter very comfortable and contented. Their only regret was the unfortunate quarrel between Mrs Jamieson and the common Hogginses and their supporters. It troubled Miss Matty’s tender heart and Mr Peter’s friendly, sociable nature. One day, I joked that the quarrel would last only until Mrs Jamieson or Mr Mulliner fell ill. Then they would be only too glad to make friends with Mr Hoggins. But Miss Matty did not like me speaking so lightly of the prospect of illness. Before the year was over, everything had been resolved in a much more satisfactory way.

I received two Cranford letters on one auspicious October morning. Both Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to ask me to come over and meet the Gordons, who had returned to England alive and well with their two children, now almost grown up. Dear Jessie Brown had kept her old kind nature, although she had changed her name and station; and she wrote to say that she and Major Gordon expected to be in Cranford on the fourteenth, and she hoped and begged to be remembered to Mrs Jamieson (named first, as became her honourable station), Miss Pole and Miss Matty—could she ever forget their kindness to her poor father and sister?—Mrs Forrester, Mr Hoggins (and here again came in an allusion to kindness shown to the dead long ago), his new wife, who as such must allow Mrs Gordon to desire to make her acquaintance, and who was, moreover, an old Scotch friend of her husband’s. In short, every one was named, from the rector—who had been appointed to Cranford in the interim between Captain Brown’s death and Miss Jessie’s marriage, and was now associated with the latter event—down to Miss Betty Barker. All were asked to the luncheon; all except Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had come to live in Cranford since Miss Jessie Brown’s days, and whom I found rather moping on account of the omission. People wondered at Miss Betty Barker’s being included in the honourable list; but, then, as Miss Pole said, we must remember the disregard of the genteel proprieties of life in which the poor captain had educated his girls, and for his sake we swallowed our pride. Indeed, Mrs Jamieson rather took it as a compliment, as putting Miss Betty (formerly her maid) on a level with “those Hogginses.”

One fortunate October morning, I received two letters from Cranford. Miss Pole and Miss Matty both wrote to ask me to come and meet the Gordons. They had returned to England safe and well, with their two children, who were now almost grown up. Dear Jessie Brown was still as kind as ever, though her name and social position had changed. She wrote that she and Major Gordon expected to be in Cranford on the fourteenth. She hoped and begged to be remembered to Mrs Jamieson, whom she named first, as her distinguished position required. Next came Miss Pole and Miss Matty. Could Jessie ever forget their kindness to her poor father and sister? Then came Mrs Forrester and Mr Hoggins, with another mention of kindness shown to the dead long ago. She also sent her regards to his new wife, who, as his wife, must allow Mrs Gordon to express a wish to meet her. Mrs Hoggins was also an old Scottish friend of Major Gordon’s. In short, Jessie named everyone, from the rector down to Miss Betty Barker. The rector had been appointed to Cranford between Captain Brown’s death and Miss Jessie’s marriage. He was now associated with the marriage. Everyone was invited to the luncheon except Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had come to live in Cranford after Miss Jessie Brown’s time there. I found her rather downcast at being left out. People wondered why Miss Betty Barker had been included on the distinguished list. But, as Miss Pole said, we must remember that the poor captain had raised his daughters without regard for the proprieties of genteel life. For his sake, we swallowed our pride. Indeed, Mrs Jamieson rather took it as a compliment. Including Miss Betty, formerly her maid, put her on a level with “those Hogginses.”

But when I arrived in Cranford, nothing was as yet ascertained of Mrs Jamieson’s own intentions; would the honourable lady go, or would she not? Mr Peter declared that she should and she would; Miss Pole shook her head and desponded. But Mr Peter was a man of resources. In the first place, he persuaded Miss Matty to write to Mrs Gordon, and to tell her of Mrs Fitz-Adam’s existence, and to beg that one so kind, and cordial, and generous, might be included in the pleasant invitation. An answer came back by return of post, with a pretty little note for Mrs Fitz-Adam, and a request that Miss Matty would deliver it herself and explain the previous omission. Mrs Fitz-Adam was as pleased as could be, and thanked Miss Matty over and over again. Mr Peter had said, “Leave Mrs Jamieson to me;” so we did; especially as we knew nothing that we could do to alter her determination if once formed.

But when I arrived in Cranford, no one yet knew what Mrs Jamieson intended to do. Would the honourable lady go, or would she not? Mr Peter declared that she should and would go. Miss Pole shook her head and despaired. But Mr Peter was a resourceful man. First, he persuaded Miss Matty to write to Mrs Gordon and tell her about Mrs Fitz-Adam. Miss Matty was to ask that someone so kind, warm, and generous be included in the pleasant invitation. An answer came by return post, with a pretty little note for Mrs Fitz-Adam. Mrs Gordon asked Miss Matty to deliver the note herself and explain why Mrs Fitz-Adam had not been invited earlier. Mrs Fitz-Adam was delighted and thanked Miss Matty over and over again. Mr Peter had said, “Leave Mrs Jamieson to me.” So we did, especially since we knew of nothing we could do to change her mind once she had made it up.

I did not know, nor did Miss Matty, how things were going on, until Miss Pole asked me, just the day before Mrs Gordon came, if I thought there was anything between Mr Peter and Mrs Jamieson in the matrimonial line, for that Mrs Jamieson was really going to the lunch at the “George.” She had sent Mr Mulliner down to desire that there might be a footstool put to the warmest seat in the room, as she meant to come, and knew that their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had picked this piece of news up, and from it she conjectured all sorts of things, and bemoaned yet more. “If Peter should marry, what would become of poor dear Miss Matty? And Mrs Jamieson, of all people!” Miss Pole seemed to think there were other ladies in Cranford who would have done more credit to his choice, and I think she must have had someone who was unmarried in her head, for she kept saying, “It was so wanting in delicacy in a widow to think of such a thing.”

Neither Miss Matty nor I knew what was happening until Miss Pole spoke to me the day before Mrs Gordon came. She asked if I thought Mr Peter and Mrs Jamieson might be thinking of marriage. After all, Mrs Jamieson really was going to lunch at the “George.” She had sent Mr Mulliner down to ask for a footstool by the warmest seat in the room. She meant to come and knew that their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had heard about this and drew all sorts of conclusions from it. She became more distressed than ever. “If Peter should marry, what would become of poor dear Miss Matty? And Mrs Jamieson, of all people!” Miss Pole seemed to think other ladies in Cranford would have reflected better on his choice. I think she must have had an unmarried lady in mind. She kept saying, “It was so lacking in delicacy for a widow to think of such a thing.”

When I got back to Miss Matty’s I really did begin to think that Mr Peter might be thinking of Mrs Jamieson for a wife, and I was as unhappy as Miss Pole about it. He had the proof sheet of a great placard in his hand. “Signor Brunoni, Magician to the King of Delhi, the Rajah of Oude, and the great Lama of Thibet,” &c. &c., was going to “perform in Cranford for one night only,” the very next night; and Miss Matty, exultant, showed me a letter from the Gordons, promising to remain over this gaiety, which Miss Matty said was entirely Peter’s doing. He had written to ask the signor to come, and was to be at all the expenses of the affair. Tickets were to be sent gratis to as many as the room would hold. In short, Miss Matty was charmed with the plan, and said that to-morrow Cranford would remind her of the Preston Guild, to which she had been in her youth—a luncheon at the “George,” with the dear Gordons, and the signor in the Assembly Room in the evening. But I—I looked only at the fatal words:—

When I got back to Miss Matty’s, I really did begin to think that Mr Peter might be considering marrying Mrs Jamieson. I was as unhappy about it as Miss Pole. He had a proof of a large poster in his hand. It announced that “Signor Brunoni, Magician to the King of Delhi, the Rajah of Oude, and the great Lama of Thibet,” and so on, would “perform in Cranford for one night only.” That night was the very next night. Miss Matty was delighted. She showed me a letter from the Gordons, promising to stay for this entertainment. She said it was entirely Peter’s doing. He had written to ask the signor to come and would pay all the expenses. Free tickets would be sent to as many people as the room could hold. In short, Miss Matty was charmed by the plan. She said that tomorrow Cranford would remind her of the Preston Guild, which she had attended in her youth. There would be lunch at the “George” with the dear Gordons, and the signor in the Assembly Room that evening. But I looked only at the fatal words:

“Under the Patronage of the HONOURABLE MRS JAMIESON.”

“Under the sponsorship of THE HONOURABLE MRS JAMIESON.”

She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertainment of Mr Peter’s; she was perhaps going to displace my dear Miss Matty in his heart, and make her life lonely once more! I could not look forward to the morrow with any pleasure; and every innocent anticipation of Miss Matty’s only served to add to my annoyance.

She had been chosen to host Mr Peter’s party. Perhaps she would take my dear Miss Matty’s place in his heart and leave her lonely once more! I could not look forward to tomorrow with any pleasure. Every innocent expression of anticipation from Miss Matty only made me more annoyed.

So, angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little incident which could add to my irritation, I went on till we were all assembled in the great parlour at the “George.” Major and Mrs Gordon and pretty Flora and Mr Ludovic were all as bright and handsome and friendly as could be; but I could hardly attend to them for watching Mr Peter, and I saw that Miss Pole was equally busy. I had never seen Mrs Jamieson so roused and animated before; her face looked full of interest in what Mr Peter was saying. I drew near to listen. My relief was great when I caught that his words were not words of love, but that, for all his grave face, he was at his old tricks. He was telling her of his travels in India, and describing the wonderful height of the Himalaya mountains: one touch after another added to their size, and each exceeded the former in absurdity; but Mrs Jamieson really enjoyed all in perfect good faith. I suppose she required strong stimulants to excite her to come out of her apathy. Mr Peter wound up his account by saying that, of course, at that altitude there were none of the animals to be found that existed in the lower regions; the game,—everything was different. Firing one day at some flying creature, he was very much dismayed when it fell, to find that he had shot a cherubim! Mr Peter caught my eye at this moment, and gave me such a funny twinkle, that I felt sure he had no thoughts of Mrs Jamieson as a wife from that time. She looked uncomfortably amazed—

So I went on, angry and irritated, exaggerating every little incident that could make me feel worse. At last, we were all gathered in the great parlour at the “George.” Major and Mrs Gordon, pretty Flora, and Mr Ludovic were all as cheerful, handsome, and friendly as could be. But I could hardly pay attention to them because I was watching Mr Peter. I saw that Miss Pole was just as busy watching him. I had never seen Mrs Jamieson so alert and animated before. Her face showed great interest in what Mr Peter was saying. I moved closer to listen. To my great relief, I heard that he was not speaking of love. Despite his serious expression, he was up to his old tricks. He was telling her about his travels in India and describing the astonishing height of the Himalaya mountains. Each detail made the mountains taller, and each was more absurd than the last. But Mrs Jamieson enjoyed the whole story and believed every word. I suppose she needed strong stimulation to rouse her from her apathy. Mr Peter ended his account by saying that, of course, no animals from the lower regions lived at that altitude. The game and everything else were different. One day, he had fired at a flying creature. When it fell, he was very upset to discover that he had shot a cherubim! At that moment, Mr Peter caught my eye and gave me such an amused twinkle. From then on, I felt sure he had no intention of making Mrs Jamieson his wife. She looked uncomfortably amazed.

“But, Mr Peter, shooting a cherubim—don’t you think—I am afraid that was sacrilege!”

“But, Mr Peter, shooting a cherub, don’t you think? I’m afraid that was sacrilege!”

Mr Peter composed his countenance in a moment, and appeared shocked at the idea, which, as he said truly enough, was now presented to him for the first time; but then Mrs Jamieson must remember that he had been living for a long time among savages—all of whom were heathens—some of them, he was afraid, were downright Dissenters. Then, seeing Miss Matty draw near, he hastily changed the conversation, and after a little while, turning to me, he said, “Don’t be shocked, prim little Mary, at all my wonderful stories. I consider Mrs Jamieson fair game, and besides I am bent on propitiating her, and the first step towards it is keeping her well awake. I bribed her here by asking her to let me have her name as patroness for my poor conjuror this evening; and I don’t want to give her time enough to get up her rancour against the Hogginses, who are just coming in. I want everybody to be friends, for it harasses Matty so much to hear of these quarrels. I shall go at it again by-and-by, so you need not look shocked. I intend to enter the Assembly Room to-night with Mrs Jamieson on one side, and my lady, Mrs Hoggins, on the other. You see if I don’t.”

Mr Peter quickly composed his face and seemed shocked at the idea. As he said, truthfully enough, the idea had never occurred to him before. But Mrs Jamieson must remember that he had lived for a long time among savages. They were all heathens, and some of them, he feared, were downright Dissenters. Then, seeing Miss Matty come near, he quickly changed the subject. After a little while, he turned to me and said, “Don’t be shocked, prim little Mary, by all my wonderful stories. I consider Mrs Jamieson fair game. Besides, I’m determined to win her over, and the first step is to keep her wide awake. I got her to come by asking her to lend her name as patroness for my poor conjuror this evening. I don’t want to give her time to work herself up against the Hogginses, who are just coming in. I want everyone to be friends, because hearing about these quarrels upsets Matty so much. I’ll start again before long, so you needn’t look shocked. I intend to enter the Assembly Room tonight with Mrs Jamieson on one side and my lady, Mrs Hoggins, on the other. You’ll see if I don’t.”

Somehow or another he did; and fairly got them into conversation together. Major and Mrs Gordon helped at the good work with their perfect ignorance of any existing coolness between any of the inhabitants of Cranford.

Somehow he did, and he managed to get them talking together. Major and Mrs Gordon helped with this good work, knowing nothing of any coolness between the people of Cranford.

Ever since that day there has been the old friendly sociability in Cranford society; which I am thankful for, because of my dear Miss Matty’s love of peace and kindliness. We all love Miss Matty, and I somehow think we are all of us better when she is near us.

Ever since that day, Cranford society has been as friendly and sociable as before. I am thankful for that, because my dear Miss Matty loves peace and kindness. We all love Miss Matty, and I somehow think we are all better when she is near us.