Rain or not, he was too English to stay indoors all day. So out he
went and into the town. The quaint bridge pleased him; he tried to
think how she would have told him to use his eyes. He must not be
stupid, he said to himself, and already he began to perceive new
meanings in things. Coming back, he chanced to stop and look in at
the fur shop under the hotel. There were some nice skins there, and
what caught his attention most was a really splendid tiger. A
magnificent creature the beast must have been. The deepest, most
perfectly marked, largest one he had ever seen. He stood for some time
admiring it. An infinitely better specimen than his lady had over her
couch. Should he buy it for her? Would she take it? Would it please
her to think he had remembered it might be what she would like?
He went into the shop. It was not even dear as tigers go, and his
parents had given him ample money for any follies.
"Confound it, Henrietta! The boy must have his head!" Sir Charles
Verdayne had said. "He's my son, you know, and you can't expect to
cure him of one wench unless you provide him with shekels to buy
another." Which crudely expressed wisdom had been followed, and Paul
had no worries where his banking account was concerned.
He bought the tiger, and ordered it to be sent to his rooms
immediately.
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