She decided that she would try to push whatever resolve he had in the car to see where it would lead. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. He had to know the truth, Melusine. 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. The doctor nodded. The audience clapped more heartily.
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