It was hard to resist. "There's the house," said Jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little trim garden in front of it. ‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary. 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. ” “Would not do what?” “Well, follow buses from Russell Square to Hampstead.
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