At length I was called upon, one fine morning, to accompany her in a walk to the village. Ostensibly she went to get some shades of Berlin wool, at a tolerably respectable shop that was chiefly supported by the ladies of the vicinity: really—I trust there is no breach of charity in supposing that she went with the idea of meeting either with the Rector himself, or some other admirer by the way; for as we went along, she kept wondering “what Hatfield would do or say, if we met him,” &c. &c.; as we passed Mr. Green’s park-gates, she “wondered whether he was at home—great stupid blockhead”; as Lady Meltham’s carriage passed us, she “wondered what Mr. Harry was doing this fine day”; and then began to abuse his elder brother for being “such a fool as to get married and go and live in London.” “Why,” said I, “I thought you wanted to live in London yourself.” “Yes, because it’s so dull here: but then he makes it still duller by taking himself off: and if he were not married I might have him instead of that odious Sir Thomas.” Then, observing the prints of a horse’s feet on the somewhat miry road, she “wondered whether it was a gentleman’s horse,” and finally concluded it was, for the impressions were too small to have been made by a “great clumsy cart-horse”; and then she “wondered who the rider could be,” and whether we should meet him coming back, for she was sure he had only passed that morning; and lastly, when we entered the village and saw only a few of its humble inhabitants moving about, she “wondered why the stupid people couldn’t keep in their houses; she was sure she didn’t want to see their ugly faces, and dirty, vulgar clothes—it wasn’t for that she came to Horton!” Amid all this, I confess, I wondered, too, in secret, whether we should meet, or catch a glimpse of somebody else; and as we passed his lodgings, I even went so far as to wonder whether he was at the window. On entering the shop, Miss Murray desired me to stand in the doorway while she transacted her business, and tell her if anyone passed. But alas! there was no one visible besides the villagers, except Jane and Susan Green coming down the single street, apparently returning from a walk. “Stupid things!” muttered she, as she came out after having concluded her bargain. “Why couldn’t they have their dolt of a brother with them? even he would be better than nothing.” She greeted them, however, with a cheerful smile, and protestations of pleasure at the happy meeting equal to their own. They placed themselves one on each side of her, and all three walked away chatting and laughing as young ladies do when they get together, if they be but on tolerably intimate terms. But I, feeling myself to be one too many, left them to their merriment and lagged behind, as usual on such occasions: I had no relish for walking beside Miss Green or Miss Susan like one deaf and dumb, who could neither speak nor be spoken to.