You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. 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. “I believe that you are right,” he said softly. . It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. I too can see it. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. No, this was imbecile. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended.
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