She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. Listen, Jack. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. ‘Whereas my need was very great indeed. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you. It is no crime, none at all. "But, I should think, after the specimen you've just given of your amiable disposition, no person would be likely to saddle himself with such an incumbrance.
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