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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. When she got home to her lodgings that evening she reflected with something like surprise upon her half-day’s employment, and decided that it showed nothing more nor less than that Capes was a really very interesting person indeed. “We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete.
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