“Well, did you see that?  Upon my word——­”

“A baggage—­that’s what I call ’er,” the feathered lady retorted severely.  “Mark my words—­a baggage.”

Rufus jogged Robert in the side.

“Wasn’t she a joke?  Didn’t she make you scream?”

Robert hated them all.  Beastly, despicable people who liked beastly, despicable things.

More horsemen, camels, clowns on foot and clowns on donkeys.  Finally the band, slightly winded by this time, and playing raggedly.  The torch-bearers formed up, and a large gentleman in riding boots stood for a moment in the light.

“To-morrow evening at eight o’clock—­the first performance of the Greatest Show in Europe—­a unique opportunity—­better book your seats early, ladies and gentlemen——­”

Then the flaps of the tent fell and all the lights and sounds seemed to go out at once.  The crowd melted away, and only Robert and his companion remained gazing spellbound at the closed and silent cave which had swallowed all the enchantment.

Rufus put his hands into his hair and tugged it desperately.

“Oh, if only I could go—­if only I could——­ Don’t you want to go, Robert?”

Robert woke partially from his dream.

“I’m going.”  He turned, and with his hands thrust into his pockets began to walk homewards.  Rufus trotted feverishly at his side.

“I say, are you really?  But then you’ve got no people; jolly for you.  I wish I hadn’t.  My pater’s so beastly strict; I’m scared of him.  I say, when will you go?”

“To-morrow night, of course.”

“Have you got the money?”

“No, but I’ll get it.”

“Oh, I say, I wish I could.  P’r’aps I could too.  I’ve got money—­yes, I have, even if it is in a beastly tin box.  What’s the good of saving till you’re grown up?  I shan’t want it then like I do now.  It’s silly.  All grown-up people are silly.  When I’m grown up I’ll be different.  I say, Robert, I can come with you, can’t I?”

“Oh, yes—­if you want to.”  He was indifferent.  It puzzled him slightly that Rufus should be so eager.  What did he know of the true inwardness of what he had seen?  What had it got to do with him, anyway?

Rufus brooded, his freckled face puckered with anxious contriving.

“I say, I’ve got an idea!  I’ll tell the pater you’ve asked me to come over and spend the evening with you at your place.  It’ll be sort of true, won’t it?  And then he’ll never think about the money.  You won’t mind, will you?  It’ll never come out—­and if it does, I’ll say I made it up.”

“I don’t care.  All right.”

Rufus drew a great sigh of relief.

“Isn’t it ripping?  Oh, I say, I wish it was to-morrow night.  I hope I don’t die first.  What did you like best, Robert?  Who are you keenest on?”

Robert did not answer.  It would have been sacrilege to talk her over—­to drag her down into a silly controversy.  He longed for the moment when Rufus would have to leave him.  He wanted to be alone and silent.  Even the thought of Christine and of her inevitable questions hurt him like the touch of a rough, unfeeling hand.