r alliance to the Bigges of
Bigelow Hall."

Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her being a
very good card-player. Miss Barker looked at me with sidelong dignity,
as much as to say, although a retired milliner, she was no democrat,
and understood the difference of ranks.

"May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my little dwelling as
possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs. Jamieson dines at five, but has kindly
promised not to delay her visit beyond that time--half-past six." And
with a swimming curtsy Miss Betty Barker took her leave....

The spring evenings were getting bright and long, when three or four
ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker's door. Do you know what a
calash is? It is a covering worn over caps, not unlike the heads
fastened on old-fashioned gigs; but sometimes it is not quite so
large. This kind of head-gear always made an awful impression on the
children in Cranford; and now two or three left off their play in the
quiet sunny little street, and gathered in wondering silence round
Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and myself. We were silent too, so that we
could hear loud suppressed whispers inside Miss Barker's house: "Wait,
Peggy! wait till I've run up-stairs and washed my hands. When I cough,
open the door; I'll not be a minute."

And true enough, it was not a minute before we heard a noise, between
a sneeze and a crow; on which the door flew open. Behind it stood a
round-eyed maiden, all aghast at the honorable company of calashes,
who marched in without a word. She recovered presence of mind enough
to usher us into a small room, which had been a shop, but was now
converted into a temporary dressing-room. There we unpinned and shook
ourselves, and arranged our features before the glass into a sweet and
gracious company face; and then, bowing backwards with "After you,
ma'am," we allowed Mrs. Forrester to take precedence up the narrow
staircase that led to Miss Barker's drawing-room. There she sat, as
stately and composed as though we had never heard that odd-sounding
cough, from which her throat must have been even then sore and rough.
Kind, gentle, shabbily dressed Mrs. Forrester was immediately
conducted to the second place of honor--a seat arranged something like
Prince Albert's near the Queen's--good, but not so good. The place of
pre-eminence was of course reserved for the Honorable Mrs. Jamieson,
who presently came panting up the stairs--Carlo rushing round her on
her progress,