"Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. “I daresay the gallery will be full, but there is always the chance, and I know you two are keen on Melba. " So she told him the adventure of the two beachcombers in the typhoon, and how they became regenerated by their magnificent courage.
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