He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. Manning. But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. 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. That might happen on her birthday—in August. There was still in his heart that fierce anger which demands physical expression; but he had to consider Ruth in all phases.
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