And at the sight something leaped within her. She had all the fascination of being absolutely perplexing in this respect. 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. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. " "You are offering your hand to me?" "Without reservations.
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