If only this man had been her father! The world would have meant nothing; the island would have been wide enough. 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. He advanced a step towards her. But she felt his lax figure become rigid. "Fire! That was what drew me to you in the beginning.
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