I never cared
for Di, who was her mother over again, and used to set us to rights
with all her might; but she had married early, a very rich man--and
Viola and I had always been exceedingly fond of one another, so that
I could not bear to be cut off from her, however I might be disposed
to defy her mother.
The upshot of my perplexities was that I set off to Mycening to lay
them before Miss Woolmer, another of the few belonging to neither
clan, to know what all this meant, as well as to be interested in my
nephews.
Mycening is one of the prettiest country towns I know, at least it
was twenty years ago. There is a very wide street, unpaved, but with
a broad smooth gravelled way, slightly sloping down towards the
little clean stone-edged gutters that border the carriage road along
the centre, which is planted on each side with limes cut into arches.
The houses are of all sorts, some old timbered gable-ended ones with
projecting upper stories, like our own, others of the handsome old
Queen Anne type with big sash windows, and others quite modern. Some
have their gardens in front, some stand flush with the road, and the
better sort are mixed with the shops and cottages.
Miss Woolmer lived in a tiny low one, close to the road, where, from
her upstairs floor, she saw all that came and went, and, intellectual
woman as she certainly was, she thoroughly enjoyed watching her
neighbours, as by judiciously-arranged looking-glasses, she could do
all up and down the street.
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