When she did understand the drift of the honourable lady’s call, it was pretty to see with what quiet dignity she received the intimation thus uncourteously given.  She was not in the least hurt—­she was of too gentle a spirit for that; nor was she exactly conscious of disapproving of Mrs Jamieson’s conduct; but there was something of this feeling in her mind, I am sure, which made her pass from the subject to others in a less flurried and more composed manner than usual.  Mrs Jamieson was, indeed, the more flurried of the two, and I could see she was glad to take her leave.

A little while afterwards Miss Pole returned, red and indignant.  “Well! to be sure!  You’ve had Mrs Jamieson here, I find from Martha; and we are not to call on Lady Glenmire.  Yes!  I met Mrs Jamieson, half-way between here and Mrs Forrester’s, and she told me; she took me so by surprise, I had nothing to say.  I wish I had thought of something very sharp and sarcastic; I dare say I shall to-night.  And Lady Glenmire is but the widow of a Scotch baron after all!  I went on to look at Mrs Forrester’s Peerage, to see who this lady was, that is to be kept under a glass case:  widow of a Scotch peer—­never sat in the House of Lords—­and as poor as job, I dare say; and she—­fifth daughter of some Mr Campbell or other.  You are the daughter of a rector, at any rate, and related to the Arleys; and Sir Peter might have been Viscount Arley, every one says.”

Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain.  That lady, usually so kind and good-humoured, was now in a full flow of anger.

“And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be quite ready,” said she at last, letting out the secret which gave sting to Mrs Jamieson’s intimation.  “Mrs Jamieson shall see if it is so easy to get me to make fourth at a pool when she has none of her fine Scotch relations with her!”

In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which Lady Glenmire appeared in Cranford, we sedulously talked together, and turned our backs on Mrs Jamieson and her 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.”