“I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. “Go it, miss!” cried one. He came into the club next day, and of course we went for him thick. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. Then they would leave and she would go back to being alone. She had very few clear memories before a particular day in the library, when they had finished one of her first reading lessons. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. And girls and women, perhaps, are different. The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. 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. "Stay!" interposed Jonathan.
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