guest. If we might not call on her, we would
not even look at her, though we were dying
with curiosity to know what she was like.
We had the comfort of questioning Martha
in the afternoon. Martha did not belong to
a sphere of society whose observation could
be an implied compliment to Lady Glenmire,
and Martha had made good use of her eyes.

"Well, ma'am! is it the little lady with
Mrs. Jamieson, you mean? I thought you
would like more to know how young Mrs.
Smith was dressed, her being a bride."
(Mrs. Smith was the butcher's wife.)

Miss Pole said, " Good gracious me! as if
we cared about a Mrs. Smith; " but was
silent, as Martha resumed her speech.

"The little lady in Mrs. Jamieson's pew
had on, ma'am, rather an old black silk, and
a shepherd's plaid cloak, ma'am; and very
bright black eyes, she had, ma'am, and a
pleasant, sharp face; not over young, ma'am,
but yet, I should guess, younger than Mrs.
Jamieson herself. She looked up and down
the church, like a bird, and nipped up her
petticoats, when she came out, as quick and
sharp as ever I see. I'll tell you what, ma'am,
she's more like Mrs. Deacon, at the ' Coach
and Horses,' nor any one."

"Hush, Martha!" said Miss Matey;
"that's not respectful.''

"Isn't it, ma'am? I beg pardon, I'm sure;
but Jem Hearn said so as well. He said,
she was just such a sharp, stirring sort of a
body"—

"Lady," said Miss Pole.

"Lady—as Mrs. Deacon."

Another Sunday passed away, and we still
averted our eyes from Mrs. Jamieson and
her guest, and made remarks to ourselves
that we thought were very severe—almost
too much so. Miss Matey was evidently
uneasy at our sarcastic manner of speaking.

Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had
found out that Mrs. Jamieson's was not the
gayest, liveliest house in the world; perhaps
Mrs. Jamieson had found out that most of
the county families were in London, and that
those who remained in——shire were not
so alive as they might have been to the
circumstance of Lady Glenmire being in their
neighbourhood. Great events spring out of
small causes; so I will not pretend to say
what induced Mrs. Jamieson to alter her
determination of excluding the Cranford
ladies, and send notes of invitation all round
for a small party, on the following Tuesday.
Mr. Mulliner himself brought them round.
He would always ignore the fact of there
being a back-door to any house, and gave a
louder rat-tat than his mistress, Mrs. Jamieson.
He had three little notes, which he
carried in a large basket, in order to impress
his mistress with an idea of their great
weight, though they might easily have gone
into his waistcoat pocket.

Miss Matey and I quietly decided we would
have a previous engagement at home:—it was
the evening on which Miss Matey usually
made candle-lighters of all the notes and
letters of the week; for on Mondays her
accounts were always made straight—not a
penny owing from the week before; so, by a
natural arrangement, making candle-lighters
fell upon a Tuesday evening, and gave us a
legitimate excuse for declining Mrs. Jamieson's
invitation. But before our answer was
written, in came Miss Pole, with an open note
in her hand.

"So! " she said. " Ah! I see you have
got your note, too. Better late than never.
I could have told my Lady Glenmire she
would be glad enough of our society before a
fortnight was over."

"Yes," said Miss Matey, " we're asked for
Tuesday evening. And perhaps you would
just kindly bring your work across and drink
tea with us that night. It is my usual regular
time for looking over all the last week's bills,
and notes, and letters, and making candle-
lighters of them; but that does not seem
quite reason enough for saying I have a
previous engagement at home, though I meant
to make it do. Now, if you would come, my
conscience would be quite at ease, and luckily
the note is not written yet."

I saw Miss Pole's countenance change while
Miss Matey was speaking.

"Don't you mean to go then ?" asked she.

"Oh no! " said Miss Matey, quietly. " You
don't either, I suppose?"

"I don't know," replied Miss Pole. " Yes,
I think I do," said she, rather briskly; and,
on seeing Miss Matey look surprised, she
added, " You see, one would not like Mrs.
Jamieson to think that anything she could
do, or say, was of consequence enough to give
offence; it would be a kind of letting down
of ourselves, that I, for one, should not like.
It would be too flattering to Mrs. Jamieson,
if we allowed her to suppose that what she
had said affected us a week, nay ten days
afterwards."

"Well! I suppose it is wrong to be hurt
and annoyed so long about anything; and,
perhaps, after all, she did not mean to vex us.
But I must say, I could not have brought
myself to say the things Mrs. Jamieson did
about our not calling. I really don't think
I shall go."

"Oh, come! Miss Matey, you must go;
you know our friend Mrs. Jamieson is much
more phlegmatic than most people, and does
not enter into the little delicacies of feeling
which you possess in so remarkable a degree."

"I thought you possessed them, too, that
day Mrs. Jamieson called to tell us not to go,"
said Miss Matey, innocently.

But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies
of feeling, possessed a very smart cap, which
she was anxious to show to an admiring
world; and so she seemed to forget all her
angry words uttered not a fortnight before,
and to be ready to act on what she called the
great Christian principle of "Forgive and