But, like many people who think they have made a
severe and sarcastic speech, which yet is clever of its kind, she
began to relax in her grimness from the moment when she made this
allusion to the surgery; and we turned to speculate on the way in
which Mrs Jamieson would receive the news. The person whom she had
left in charge of her house to keep off followers from her maids to
set up a follower of her own! And that follower a man whom Mrs
Jamieson had tabooed as vulgar, and inadmissible to Cranford
society, not merely on account of his name, but because of his
voice, his complexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, and
himself, smelling of drugs. Had he ever been to see Lady Glenmire
at Mrs Jamieson's? Chloride of lime would not purify the house in
its owner's estimation if he had. Or had their interviews been
confined to the occasional meetings in the chamber of the poor sick
conjuror, to whom, with all our sense of the mesalliance, we could
not help allowing that they had both been exceedingly kind? And
now it turned out that a servant of Mrs Jamieson's had been ill,
and Mr Hoggins had been attending her for some weeks. So the wolf
had got into the fold, and now he was carrying off the shepherdess.
What would Mrs Jamieson say? We looked into the darkness of
futurity as a child gazes after a rocket up in the cloudy sky, full
of wondering expectation of the rattle, the discharge, and the
brilliant shower of sparks and light.
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