ese accessories of light and shade and
background garden objects beautifully and tenderly filling up the scene,
presented together a picture which it was a luxury to be able to look
on, which it seemed little short of absolute profanation to disturb.

Mrs. Joyce, nevertheless, pitilessly disarranged it. In a moment the
living picture was destroyed; the young ladies were called to their
mother's side; the child was placed between Valentine and Mrs. Peckover,
and the important business of luncheon began in earnest.

It was wonderful to hear how Mr. Blyth talked; how he alternately
glorified the clown's wife for the punctual performance of her promise,
and appealed triumphantly to the rector to say, whether he had not
underrated rather than exaggerated little Mary's beauty. It was also
wonderful to see Mrs. Peckover's blank look of astonishment when she
found the rigid doctor of divinity, who would not so much as notice her
curtsey, suddenly relax into blandly supplying her with everything she
wanted to eat or drink. But a very much more remarkable study of human
nature than either of these, was afforded by the grimly patronizing and
profoundly puzzled aspect of Vance, as he waited, under protest, upon a
woman from a traveling circus. It is something to see the Pope serving
the Pilgrims their dinner, during the Holy Week at Rome. Even that
astounding sight, however, fades into nothing, as compared with the
sublimer spectacle of Mr. Vance waiting upon Mrs. Peckover.

The rector, who was a sharp observer in his own quiet, unobtrusive way,
was struck by two peculiarities in little Mary's behavior during lunch.
In the first place, he remarked with some interest and astonishment,
that while the clown's wife was, not unnaturally, very shy and
embarrassed in her present position, among strangers who were greatly
her social superiors, little Mary had maintained her self-possession,
and had unconsciously adapted herself to her new sphere from the moment
when she first entered the dining-room. In the second place, he observed
that she constantly nestled close to Valentine; looked at him oftener
than she looked at any one else; and seemed to be always trying,
sometimes not unsuccessfully, to guess what he was saying to others by
watching his expression, his manner, and the action of his lips. "That
child's character is no common one," thought Doctor Joyce; "she is older
at heart than she looks; and is almost as fond of Blyth already