They cast their eyes around. The man was about to hire a fly as some
others had done, when the woman said, "Don't be in such a hurry,
Cartlett. It isn't so very far to the show-yard. Let us walk down
the street into the place. Perhaps I can pick up a cheap bit of
furniture or old china. It is years since I was here--never since
I lived as a girl at Aldbrickham, and used to come across for a trip
sometimes with my young man."
"You can't carry home furniture by excursion train," said, in a thick
voice, her husband, the landlord of The Three Horns, Lambeth; for
they had both come down from the tavern in that "excellent, densely
populated, gin-drinking neighbourhood," which they had occupied ever
since the advertisement in those words had attracted them thither.
The configuration of the landlord showed that he, too, like his
customers, was becoming affected by the liquors he retailed.
"Then I'll get it sent, if I see any worth having," said his wife.
They sauntered on, but had barely entered the town when her attention
was attracted by a young couple leading a child, who had come out
from the second platform, into which the train from Aldbrickham had
steamed. They were walking just in front of the inn-keepers.
"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.
"THEIR child! 'Tisn't their child," said Arabella with a curious,
sudden covetousness. "They haven't been married long enough for it
to be theirs!"
But although the smouldering maternal instinct was strong enough
in her to lead her to quash her husband's conjecture, she was not
disposed on second thoughts to be more candid than necessary. Mr.
Cartlett had no other idea than that his wife's child by her first
husband was with his grandparents at the Antipodes.