No," he answered quietly. "I didn't mean that. The clowns in the circus
represent amusing cads. Some of them are awfully clever, too," he added,
turning the subject. "Some of those fiddling fellows are extraordinary.
They really play very decently. They must have a lot of talent, when you
think of all the different things they do besides their feats of
strength--they act, and play the fiddle, and sing, and dance--"

"You seem to have a great admiration for clowns," observed Clare in an
indifferent tone.

"Well--they are amusing, aren't they? Of course, it isn't high art, and
that sort of thing, but one laughs at them, and sometimes they do very
pretty things. One can't be always on one's hind legs, doing Hamlet, can
one? There's a limit to the amount of tragedy one can stand during life.
After all, it is better to laugh than to cry."

"When one can," said Mrs. Bowring thoughtfully.

"Some people always can, whatever happens," said the young girl.

"Perhaps they are right," answered the young man. "Things are not often
so serious as they are supposed to be. It's like being in a house that's
supposed to be haunted--on All Hallow E'en, for instance--it's awfully
gruesome and creepy at night when the wind moans and the owls screech.
And then, the next morning, one wonders how one could have been such an
idiot. Other things are often like that. You think the world's coming to
an end--and then it doesn't, you know. It goes on just the same. You are
rather surprised at first, but you soon get used to it. I suppose that
is what is meant by losing one's illusions."

"Sometimes the world stops for an individual and doesn't go on again,"
said Mrs. Bowring, with a faint smile.

"Oh, I suppose people do break their hearts sometimes," returned Brook,
somewhat thoughtfully. "But it must be something tremendously serious,"
he added with instant cheerfulness. "I don't believe it happens often.
Most people just have a queer sensation in their throat for a minute,
and they smoke a cigarette for their nerves, and go away and think of
something else."

Clare looked at him, and her eyes flashed angrily, for she remembered
Lady Fan's cigarette and the preceding evening. He remembered it too,
and was thinking of it, for he smiled as he spoke and looked away at the
horizon as though he saw something in the air. For the first time in her
life the young girl had a cruel impulse. She wished that she were a
great beauty, or that she possess