All at once he saw a way out of the threatening doldrums. "You mistake,—you are mine. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. Plainly. 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. ’ ‘I imagine it must be a relief to you, after so lucky an escape.
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