Melusine was unable to repulse him—even had she tried. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. 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. How long has Miss Charvill been in England?’ ‘Not long, sir. Which, let me assure you, villain, will not be so far away. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door.
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