“Well, then,” said Pauline wisely, “we meet them, that’s all.”
“Shall you speak to them?” Rosie asked; “I shan’t.”
“We’ll think about that when we see them,” said Pauline.
“Oh!” cried Rosie.
This exclamation had nothing to do with the foregoing chatter. It merely expressed some part of Rosie’s joy when the car came to the magnificent circular place half-way down the Central Way, with the façade of the Exposition Palace on the right, the stately entrance to the Oriental Gardens on the left, and the superb vista of the thoroughfare before and behind.
“Oh!” cried Rosie again, for quite a different reason.
Already she had forgotten the architectural and other beauties of this scene, and was eagerly directing Pauline’s attention to a tall man with vivid hair and an individual style, who had just crossed the rails in front of the car and was proceeding towards the Oriental Gardens.
“There!” said Rosie, pointing frantically, yet primly. “Don’t you see him?”
“Who? That man with the red hair?”
“Yes; it’s Carpentaria, isn’t it?”