" The stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear. She traced him by his scent. And what will they do, and where will they go?" "With me—the both of them. 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. ‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love.
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