“I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. The bars dropped noiselessly and slowly down, till the chain tightened at the staple. I think too much about myself. 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 turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection. Ruth could not very well object, since an air of distinction would go with Taber. "I didn't mean to give offence," replied Sheppard, sulkily.
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