“And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?” asked I.

“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.

Very soon after—­at least during my long visit to Miss Matilda—­I had the opportunity of seeing Mr Holbrook; seeing, too, his first encounter with his former love, after thirty or forty years’ separation.  I was helping to decide whether any of the new assortment of coloured silks which they had just received at the shop would do to match a grey and black mousseline-delaine that wanted a new breadth, when a tall, thin, Don Quixote-looking old man came into the shop for some woollen gloves.  I had never seen the person (who was rather striking) before, and I watched him rather attentively while Miss Matty listened to the shopman.  The stranger wore a blue coat with brass buttons, drab breeches, and gaiters, and drummed with his fingers on the counter until he was attended to.  When he answered the shop-boy’s question, “What can I have the pleasure of showing you to-day, sir?” I saw Miss Matilda start, and then suddenly sit down; and instantly I guessed who it was.  She had made some inquiry which had to be carried round to the other shopman.

“Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarsenet two-and-twopence the yard”; and Mr Holbrook had caught the name, and was across the shop in two strides.

“Matty—­Miss Matilda—­Miss Jenkyns!  God bless my soul!  I should not have known you.  How are you? how are you?” He kept shaking her hand in a way which proved the warmth of his friendship; but he repeated so often, as if to himself, “I should not have known you!” that any sentimental romance which I might be inclined to build was quite done away with by his manner.