“Sakes alive!” said Arabella.
“What’s that?” said Cartlett.
“Who do you think that couple is? Don’t you recognize the man?”
“No.”
“Not from the photos I have showed you?”
“Is it Fawley?”
“Yes—of course.”
“Oh, well. I suppose he was inclined for a little sight-seeing like the rest of us.” Cartlett’s interest in Jude whatever it might have been when Arabella was new to him, had plainly flagged since her charms and her idiosyncrasies, her supernumerary hair-coils, and her optional dimples, were becoming as a tale that is told.
Arabella so regulated her pace and her husband’s as to keep just in the rear of the other three, which it was easy to do without notice in such a stream of pedestrians. Her answers to Cartlett’s remarks were vague and slight, for the group in front interested her more than all the rest of the spectacle.
“They are rather fond of one another and of their child, seemingly,” continued the publican.