I was naturally interested to learn what opinions Captain Brown had managed to win for himself in Cranford.  So, with all the delicacy which the subject demanded, I made inquiries of my hostess, Miss Jenkyns.  I was surprised to learn that Captain Brown not only was respected, but had even gained an extraordinary place of authority among the Cranford ladies.  Of course, he had been forced to overcome great difficulties.

In the first place, the ladies of Cranford had moaned over the invasion of their territories by a man and a gentleman.  Then Captain Brown had started badly, very badly, by openly referring to his poverty.  If he had whispered it to an intimate friend, the doors and windows being previously closed, his vulgarity—­a tremendous word in Cranford—­might have been forgiven.  But he had published his poverty in the public street, in a loud military voice, alleging it as a reason for not taking a particular house.

In Cranford, too, where it was tacitly agreed to ignore that anyone with whom we associated on terms of equality could ever be prevented by poverty from doing anything they wished.  Where, if we walked to and from a party, it was because the night was so fine or the air so refreshing, not because sedan-chairs were so expensive.

So the poor captain had been sent to Coventry.  The ladies of Cranford had frozen him out, until the day when the cow, an Alderney cow, had broken the ice.

It happened like this.  Miss Betsy Barker had an Alderney cow, which she looked upon as a daughter.  You could not pay the regulation short quarter of an hour’s call—­to stay longer was a breach of manners—­without being told of the wonderful milk or wonderful intelligence of this animal.  The whole town knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy Barker’s Alderney.

One day the cow fell into a lime-pit, and Cranford grieved over the spectacle of the poor beast being drawn out, having lost most of her hair, and looking naked, cold and miserable, in a bare skin.  Miss Betsy Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay, and was about to prepare a bath of oil for the sufferer, when Captain Brown called out:  “Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, ma’am, if you wish to keep her alive.  But my advice is, ‘kill the poor creature at once.’” Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and in a few hours the whole town turned out to see the Alderney meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark-gray flannel.  Do you ever see cows dressed in gray flannel in London?

On that day was born the respect of the Cranford ladies for Captain Brown.

Soon after my arrival in Cranford, Miss Jenkyns gave a party in my honour, and recalling the old days when we had almost persuaded ourselves that to be a man was to be “vulgar,” I was curious to see what the ladies would do with Captain Brown.