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. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. Come along, master. I’ve never met any one like you. Why should I peep at it through smoked glass to see things that don’t affect me?” He smiled his delight at his companion. I must have something in hand.
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