"I'm afraid that Mademoiselle Mignon does not always find it so nice," remarked Miss Flower.
"O Aunty, what makes you say so? She looks as if she were perfectly happy! Didn't you see her laugh when the clown stole the other man's cap from his head? And such a dear horse as she was riding! I never saw such a dear horse in all my life. I wish I had one just like him."
"It was a beauty. So perfectly white."
"Wasn't it! O Aunty, don't you wish Papa would take you and me to the performance? There will only be one, you know, because Mr. Currie has such un—un—unpresidential engagements. I mean to ask Papa if he won't. There he is now! I hear his key in the door. May I run down and ask him, Aunty?"
"Yes, indeed—"
Downstairs ran Alice.
"O Papa!" she cried, "did you meet the Circus? It was the most wonderful Circus, Papa. Just like a story-book. And such a dear little girl on a white horse! Won't you please take me to see it, Papa—and Aunty too? We both want to go very much. It's only here for one night, the man said."
"We'll see," said the Mayor, taking off his coat. Alice danced with pleasure when she heard this "we'll see," for with Papa "we'll see" meant almost always the same thing as "yes." Alice was an only child, and a petted one, and Papa rarely refused any request on which his motherless little girl had set her heart.
She skipped upstairs beside him, full of satisfaction, and had just settled herself on his knee for the half hour of frolic and talk which was her daily delight and his, when a knock came to the door below, and Phebe the maid appeared.
"Two persons to see you, sir."