nchman played a secondary part to
his English brother, and the performance concluded with a play in which
the British tourist played a large part, conspicuous in plaid suits,
sailor hats, and thick-soled shoes. She was all eagerness to see the
London circus, and nearly as much excited as her pupils, as they drove
up to the door, and took their seats on the red velvet chairs.

Inda sat by her mother and stared solemnly around, but Viva insisted
upon being next her dear Mamzelle, and pranced up and down in a manner
which augured ill for future comfort. Once she began to fidget, adieu
to all hope of peace for her companions. Once she began to ask
questions, it was safe to predict that she would go on until despair
seized those who were obliged to answer. Pixie recognised signs of the
coming attack, and managed an adroit change of places which would leave
Mrs Wallace free to enjoy the afternoon, and punctually at three
o'clock the performance began.

The ring-master walked in and cracked his whip; the clown tumbled head
over heels into the arena, and cried, "Here we are again!" the lady
rider jumped through paper hoops, and blew kisses to the audience.
Viva's cheeks grew a vivid pink, and at each change in the performance
she adopted a change of position. When the hook of her jacket had been
extricated from the hair of the lady in front, she perched herself on
the arm of her own chair; when she had applauded herself backward into
Pixie's arms, she leant against the supercilious-looking gentleman in
the next seat, and tickled his cheeks with her fluffy hair. Then the
first wonder wore away, and she found her tongue.

"Why does the clown look like that?"

"It's a way they have in the family. They always have those funny eyes,
and red and white faces."

"Did he always look like that?"

"He did--all the time he has been a clown."

"Is it the same clown that was here before?"

"It says on the paper it's a new one for the occasion."

"Then why does he say he is here again?"

"I'll ask him next time we meet! Hush now, and listen to what he is
saying. See how they are all laughing!"

"Does the clown sleep in the circus?"

"'Deed he does not, poor creature! There are no beds, and the seats are
too hard."

"Where does he sleep, then? What is his true home?"

"Number Seven, Poplar Gardens, corner of Phillamore Park--the corner
house with the red curtains!"

Pixie understood her pupil's love of detail by t