Then he put the paper by. But there was nothing in her bearing that a passer-by would have noted, to tell of the excitement that possessed her. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. 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. Anywhere! Moonlight and music—pleasing, you know, but quite unnecessary. Gracious, there’s the gong. He meditated, and began a new paragraph.
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