It was as much as I could do to prevent him flying out of the house there and then and coming after you. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me. That's a queer yarn. ” Lucy said. 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. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly.
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