. ” “How?” “Well—a little clumsily. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. "How goes it?" he began, heartily. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. 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.
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