“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 this time, and Viva put her head on one side and stared at her with gratified admiration. If she had asked her mother, she would have looked tired and sighed, and said, “My dear child! how should I know? Don’t ask ridiculous questions,” but Mamzelle Paddy knew better than that.
Her face assumed an expression of radiant satisfaction as she pondered on that house in Poplar Gardens. Big and grey, with flower boxes in the windows and little clowns looking out of the nursery windows. Delightful! She was silent for several minutes, and the supercilious gentleman took advantage of the pause to examine the party with curious eyes. The elegant-looking woman was plainly the mother of the little girls, but who was this, who was scarcely more than a child herself, who was addressed as “Mamzelle” and spoke with a strong Irish accent? He stared at her, and Viva discovering his glance turned round with her back to the ring, and stared back with leisurely enjoyment.
At first her face expressed nothing but curiosity, but gradually her features became twisted, the lips down drawn, the eyebrows elevated to an unnatural height, until the beholder realised with horror that she was experimenting on his own expression, and endeavouring to copy it on her own small visage. Many a long year had passed since he had known what it meant to blush, but he blushed then, and hitched round in his seat to hide his scarlet face from view, while Viva once more turned her attention to the ring.
The white-skirted lady had disappeared and another was cantering round, clad in a riding habit and gentleman’s hat. The horse was black, and shone like satin; he pawed the ground with dainty, cat-like tread; the ring-master followed him as he went, and cracked his whip in encouraging fashion. Viva planted one foot on Pixie’s toe, and jumped up and down to attract attention.