“Hush, Martha!” said Miss Matty, “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 Matty 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 the country 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 Matty and I quietly decided that we would have a previous engagement at home:  it was the evening on which Miss Matty 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 Matty, “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 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 Matty was speaking.

“Don’t you mean to go then?” asked she.

“Oh, no!” said, Miss Matty quietly.  “You don’t either, I suppose?”