” “I am staying,” she answered coolly, “at a small boarding-house near Russell Square. ‘Oh, are there? You are not quite alone in these adventures of yours, I take it. I wonder. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Between him and the beach stood the sum of six hundred dollars. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. . 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. At one time, she determined to go to Wych Street, and ask Mr.
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