200 Idle Days in Patagonia. 
in a public conveyance I noticed a fashionably- 
dressed lady, of a singularly attractive appearance, 
on the opposite seat, but a little higher up. Her 
skin was somewhat pale, her hair dark, and her 
eyes green! “At last!” I exclaimed, mentally, 
glad as if I had found a priceless gem. It was 
misery to me to have to observe her furtively, to 
think that I should so soon lose sight of her! 
Several minutes passed, during which she did not 
move her head, and still the eyes were green—not 
one of the dull and dark hues that Broca imagined 
and painted, but a clear, exquisitely beautiful sea- 
green, as sea-water looks with a strong sunlight in 
it, where itis deep and pure, in the harbour of some 
rocky island under the tropics. At length, not yet 
convinced, I moved a little higher up on my seat, so 
that when I should next look at her her eyes would 
meet mine full and straight. The wished (and 
feared) moment came: alas! the eyes were no 
longer green, but grey, and not very pure in colour. 
Having looked green when viewed obliquely, they 
could not be a very pure grey: they were simply 
grey eyes with an exceedingly thin pigment, so thin 
as not to appear as pigment, equally spread over the 
surface of the irides. This made the eyes in some 
lights appear green, just as a dog’s eyes, when the 
animal sits in shadow and the upturned balls catch 
the light, sometimes look pure green. I know a 
dog, now living, whose eyes in such circumstances 
always appear of that colour. But as a rule the 
dog’s eyes take a hyaline blue. 
