"There seem to be a great many people in Bruges," said she.
"Yes," he said, in eager assent. "Quite a large number."
"There is a great deal to be seen in these old towns. So quaint, aren't they?"
She remembered his once condemning in a friend the use of that word. Now he echoed it.
"So very quaint," said he. "And the dogs drawing carts! Just like the pictures, aren't they?"
"You can get pictures of them on the illustrated post-cards. So nice to send to one's relations at home."
She was getting angry with him. He played the game too well.
"Ah! yes," he answered, "the dear people like these little tokens, don't they?"
"He's getting exactly like a curate," she thought, and a doubt assailed her. Perhaps he was not playing the game at all. Perhaps in these three years he had really grown stupid.
"How different it all is from England, isn't it?"