Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you. ’ Hilary’s brows shot up. Mr. Rowland and his companions instantly started in pursuit, leaving the lady to recover as she might. E. After all, life had still its pulsations. 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. ’ With an unexpected flush of pleasure, he recalled the girl’s antics.
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