will keep the box too. She is not like other
Englishwomen in the least."

I was not sure of that. We had some tea in the door of our tent, and
Isaacs seemed hungry and thirsty, as well he might be. Now that he was
refreshed by bathing and the offices of the camp barber, he looked much
as usual, save that the extreme paleness I had noticed when he came in
had given place to a faint flush beneath the olive, probably due to his
excitement, the danger being past. As we sat there, the rest of the
party, who had slept rather later than usual after their fatigues of the
previous day, came out one by one and stood around the dead tiger,
wondering at the tale told by the delighted ryot, who squatted at the
beast's head to relate the adventure to all comers. We could see the
group from where we sat, in the shadow of the _connat_, and the
different expressions of the men as they came out. The little collector
of Pegnugger measured and measured again; Mr. Ghyrkins stood with his
hands in his coat pockets and his legs apart, then going to the other
side he took up the same position again. Lord Steepleton Kildare
sauntered round and twirled his big moustache, saying nothing the while,
but looking rather serious. John Westonhaugh, who seemed to be the
artistic genius of the party, sent for a chair and made his servant hold
an umbrella over him while he sketched the animal in his notebook, and
presently his sister came out, a big bunch of roses in her belt, and a
broad hat half hiding her face, and looked at the tiger and then round
the party quickly, searching for Isaacs. In her hand she held a little
package wrapped in white tissue paper. I strolled up to the group,
leaving Isaacs in his tent. I thought I might as well play innocence.

"Of course," I remarked, "those fellows have bagged his ears as usual."

"They never omit that," said Ghyrkins.

"Oh no, uncle," broke in Miss Westonhaugh, "he gave them to me!"

"Who?" asked Ghyrkins, opening his little eyes wide.

"Mr. Isaacs. Did not he kill the tiger? He sent me the ears in a little
silver box. Here it is--the box, I mean. I am going to give it back to
him, of course."

"How did Mr. Isaacs know you wanted them?" asked her uncle, getting red
in the face.

"Why, we were talking about them last night before dinner, and he
promised that if he shot a tiger to-day he would give me the ears." Mr.
Ghyrkins was redder and redder in the morning sun. There was a storm of
some kind br