“No, no, not in Bristol,” replied Mr. Ben Allen, jerking his thumb over his right shoulder; “over that way⁠—down there. But, hush, here’s Bob. Not a word, my dear friend, not a word.”

Short as this conversation was, it roused in Mr. Winkle the highest degree of excitement and anxiety. The suspected prior attachment rankled in his heart. Could he be the object of it? Could it be for him that the fair Arabella had looked scornfully on the sprightly Bob Sawyer, or had he a successful rival? He determined to see her, cost what it might; but here an insurmountable objection presented itself, for whether the explanatory “over that way,” and “down there,” of Mr. Ben Allen, meant three miles off, or thirty, or three hundred, he could in no wise guess.