‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. Jack looked towards the door. He saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. White said. Oh, Jack! repent, while it is yet time, of your evil conduct. . . 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.
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