” “By all means,” Brendon answered. ” “A—what?” Anna asked. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. And for me there is only one treasure-house. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. 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. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. “I was frightened then,” she declared.
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