So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. Ann Veronica was not ready enough to deal with that counter-stroke. “I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks. That suggested delicacy; and yet her young body was strong and vital. "I don't know what his idea was. 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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