“It is so hot in my tent,” she said almost apologetically, and began to unroll some worsted work.

“Yes, it is quite unbearable,” I answered politely, though I had not thought much about the temperature.  There was a long silence, and I collected my papers in a bundle and leaned back in my chair.  I did not know what to say, nor was anything expected of me.  I looked occasionally at the young girl, who had laid her hat on the table, allowing the rich coils of dazzling hair to assert their independence.  Her dark eyes were bent over her work as her fingers deftly pushed the needle in and out of the brown linen she worked on.

“Mr. Griggs,” she began at last without looking up, “did you know Mr. Isaacs was going out last night to kill that horrid thing?” I had expected the question for some time.

“Yes; he told me about midnight, when he started.”

“Then why did you let him go?” she asked, looking suddenly at me, and knitting her dark eyebrows rather fiercely.

“I do not think I could have prevented him.  I do not think anybody could prevent him from doing anything he had made up his mind to.  I nearly quarrelled with him, as it was.”

“I am sure I could have stopped him, if I had been you,” she said innocently.

“I have not the least doubt that you could.  Unfortunately, however, you were not available at the time, or I would have suggested it to you.”

“I wish I had known,” she went on, plunging deeper and deeper.  “I would not have had him go for—­for anything.”

“Oh!  Well, I suppose not.  But, seriously, Miss Westonhaugh, are you not flattered that a man should be willing and ready to risk life and limb in satisfying your lightest fancy?”

“Flattered?” she looked at me with much astonishment and some anger.  I was sure the look was genuine and not assumed.

“At all events the tiger’s ears will always be a charming reminiscence, a token of esteem that any one might be proud of.”

“I am not proud of them in the least, though I shall always keep them as a warning not to wish for such things.  I hope that the next time Mr. Isaacs is going to do a foolish thing you will have the common sense to prevent him.”  She returned to her starting-point; but I saw no use in prolonging the skirmish, and turned the talk upon other things.  And soon John Westonhaugh joined us, and found in me a sympathetic talker and listener, as we both cared a great deal more for books than for tigers, though not averse to a stray shot now and then.

In this kind of life the week passed, shooting to-day and staying in camp to-morrow.  We shifted our ground several times, working along the borders of the forest and crashing through the jungle after tiger with varying success.  In the evenings, when not tired with the day’s work, we sat together, and Isaacs sang, and at last even prevailed upon Miss Westonhaugh to let him accompany her with his guitar,