“Where do I show it all?”
Dick sighed.
“Oh, in your eyes of course,” he said. “You show everything by your eyes, you know. It is entirely characteristic of you. You are a throw-back; don’t you remember we settled that ever so long ago, to the brute creation, who likewise show everything by their eyes.”
“Oh-h. I should have thought that dogs growled at you, and cats scratched.”
“Those are practical measures, but short of that you and animals use their eyes only, whereas people use their mouths and foreheads and other things. A pleased dog, an expectant dog, a hungry dog, a jealous dog, a disappointed dog—one gathers all that from a dog’s eyes. Their mouths are comparatively immobile, and a cat’s is even more so.”
“You have often told me that I belong to the genus cat,” said Lady Madingley, with complete composure.
“By Jove, yes,” said he. “Perhaps looking at the eyes of a cat would help me to see what I miss. Many thanks for the hint.”
He put down his palette and went to a side table on which stood bottles and ice and syphons.
“No drink of any kind on this Sahara of a morning?” he asked.
“No, thanks. Now when will you give me the final sitting? You said you only wanted one more.”