his yellow-tawny eyes linger on her, in that one
second, as if negligently.

"I call that too much!" Miss Pinnegar was crying, thoroughly upset.
"Now that was unnecessary! Why it was enough to scare one to death.
Besides, it's dangerous. It ought to be put a stop to. I don't
believe in letting these show-people have liberties."

The cavalcade was slowly passing, with its uneasy horses and its
flare of striped colour and its silent riders. Ciccio was trotting
softly back, on his green saddle-cloth, suave as velvet, his dusky,
naked torso beautiful.

"Eh, you'd think he'd get his death," the women in the crowd were
saying.

"A proper savage one, that. Makes your blood run cold--"

"Ay, an' a man for all that, take's painted face for what's worth. A
tidy man, _I_ say."

He did not look at Alvina. The faint, mischievous smile uncovered
his teeth. He fell in suddenly behind Geoffrey, with a jerk of his
steed, calling out to Geoffrey in Italian.

It was becoming cold. The cavalcade fell into a trot, Mr. May
shaking rather badly. Ciccio halted, rested his lance against a
lamp-post, switched his green blanket from beneath him, flung it
round him as he sat, and darted off. They had all disappeared over
the brow of Lumley Hill, descending. He was gone too. In the wintry
twilight the crowd began, lingeringly, to turn away. And in some
strange way, it manifested its disapproval of the spectacle: as
grown-up men and women, they were a little bit insulted by such a
show. It was an anachronism. They wanted a direct appeal to the
mind. Miss Pinnegar expressed it.

"Well," she said, when she was safely back in Manchester House, with
the gas lighted, and as she was pouring the boiling water into the
tea-pot, "You may say what you like. It's interesting in a way, just
to show what savage Red-Indians were like. But it's childish. It's
only childishness. I can't understand, myself, how people can go on
liking shows. Nothing happens. It's not like the cinema, where you
see it all and take it all in at once; you _know_ everything at a
glance. You don't know anything by looking at these people. You know
they're only men dressed up, for money. I can't see why you should
encourage it. I don't hold with idle show-people, parading round, I
don't, myself. I like to go to the cinema once a week. It's
instruction, you take it all in at a glance, all you need to know,
and it lasts you for a week. You can get to know everything about
peopl