"Something you have seen?"
"Yes."
"Tell it. Perhaps what I need is something to bite in."
So she told him the adventure of the two beachcombers in the typhoon, and how they became regenerated by their magnificent courage.
"That's tremendous!" he cried. "Lord, if I can only remember to write it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. "I'll tackle it to-night!"
"But it's after ten!"
"What's that got to do with it? … The roofs of the native huts scattering in the wind! … the absolute agony of the twisting palms!…. and those two beggars laughing as they breasted death! Girl, you've gone and done it!"
He leaned down and caught her by the hand, and then raced with her to the bungalow.
Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. His hand flew across the paper. As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and began another. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision.
Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew what kisses were now. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard.