I thought that the best I could do was to run and put the kettle on the fire for early tea, and then to attend to the shop, leaving the brother and sister to exchange some of the many thousand things they must have to say.  I had also to break the news to Martha, who received it with a burst of tears which nearly infected me.  She kept recovering herself to ask if I was sure it was indeed Miss Matty’s brother, for I had mentioned that he had grey hair, and she had always heard that he was a very handsome young man.  Something of the same kind perplexed Miss Matty at tea-time, when she was installed in the great easy-chair opposite to Mr Jenkyns in order to gaze her fill.  She could hardly drink for looking at him, and as for eating, that was out of the question.

“I suppose hot climates age people very quickly,” said she, almost to herself.  “When you left Cranford you had not a grey hair in your head.”

“But how many years ago is that?” said Mr Peter, smiling.

“Ah, true! yes, I suppose you and I are getting old.  But still I did not think we were so very old!  But white hair is very becoming to you, Peter,” she continued—­a little afraid lest she had hurt him by revealing how his appearance had impressed her.

“I suppose I forgot dates too, Matty, for what do you think I have brought for you from India?  I have an Indian muslin gown and a pearl necklace for you somewhere in my chest at Portsmouth.”  He smiled as if amused at the idea of the incongruity of his presents with the appearance of his sister; but this did not strike her all at once, while the elegance of the articles did.  I could see that for a moment her imagination dwelt complacently on the idea of herself thus attired; and instinctively she put her hand up to her throat—­that little delicate throat which (as Miss Pole had told me) had been one of her youthful charms; but the hand met the touch of folds of soft muslin in which she was always swathed up to her chin, and the sensation recalled a sense of the unsuitableness of a pearl necklace to her age.  She said, “I’m afraid I’m too old; but it was very kind of you to think of it.  They are just what I should have liked years ago—­when I was young.”

“So I thought, my little Matty.  I remembered your tastes; they were so like my dear mother’s.”  At the mention of that name the brother and sister clasped each other’s hands yet more fondly, and, although they were perfectly silent, I fancied they might have something to say if they were unchecked by my presence, and I got up to arrange my room for Mr Peter’s occupation that night, intending myself to share Miss Matty’s bed.  But at my movement, he started up.  “I must go and settle about a room at the ‘George.’  My carpet-bag is there too.”

“No!” said Miss Matty, in great distress—­“you must not go; please, dear Peter—­pray, Mary—­oh! you must not go!”

She was so much agitated that we both promised everything she wished.  Peter sat down again and gave her his hand, which for better security she held in both of hers, and I left the room to accomplish my arrangements.