’ Melusine could not regard this view with anything but scepticism. “You are talking like a boy. “If you say so, Lucy. 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. They mean something. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. Those were dreams. Only I am not an acquaintance at all. ’ He sighed elaborately. . All this juncture, a thundering crash was heard against the side of the bridge. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. Few men could have done as much. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room.
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