We called upon Miss Eastinhoe the following day. She was playing with a half-tamed young tiffin, a charming little beast, with long gray fur and bright twinkling eye, mischievous and merry as a gnome's. He was a gift of Mr. Jacobs to the lady. He cost nothing.
"Are you spoken for?" Miss Eastinhoe asked, her eyes opening a moment and meeting his, but falling again instantly with a change of color.[2]
[2] The editor had his doubts about this; but as it so stands in the original MS. (p. 69), concludes that in low latitudes, eyes do change color on slight provocation.
"Miss Eastinhoe," he said, quietly, "you know I am a man of muscle, and that I have three wives."
"Oh, I had forgotten!" she said; "I forgot about your wives."
"Among primitive people, and persons in pinafores," I interposed, "marriage is a social law."
"You surprise me, Mr. Briggs," she said, with an air of childlike simplicity.
I felt that I had put a plug into my end of the conversation.
"We will play polo next week," said Mr. Jacobs. "Meanwhile, let us visit a Certain Mighty Personage."