He glanced up at the coachman. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. “So long as I am your father, so long as your life is entrusted to my care, I feel bound by every obligation to use my authority to check this odd disposition of yours toward extravagant enterprises. My engagement at the ‘Garrick’ terminates Saturday week, and then I am free. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. But you had better know the truth to start with. 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. He looked at her in some embarrassment. Lucilla broke across Melusine’s thoughts.
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