The Girl on the Boat

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER IV

  SAM CLICKS

  Sec. 1

  It was the fourth morning of the voyage. Of course, when this story isdone in the movies they won't be satisfied with a bald statement likethat; they will have a Spoken Title or a Cut-Back Sub-Caption orwhatever they call the thing in the low dens where motion-picturescenario-lizards do their dark work, which will run:--

  AND SO, CALM AND GOLDEN, THE DAYS WENT BY, EACH FRAUGHT WITH HOPE AND YOUTH AND SWEETNESS, LINKING TWO YOUNG HEARTS IN SILKEN FETTERS FORGED BY THE LAUGHING LOVE-GOD.

  and the males in the audience will shift their chewing gum to the othercheek and take a firmer grip of their companion's hands and the man atthe piano will play "Everybody wants a key to my cellar," or somethingequally appropriate, very soulfully and slowly, with a wistful eye onthe half-smoked cigarette which he has parked on the lowest octave andintends finishing as soon as the picture is over. But I prefer the plainfrank statement that it was the fourth day of the voyage. That is mystory and I mean to stick to it.

  Samuel Marlowe, muffled in a bathrobe, came back to the state-room fromhis tub. His manner had the offensive jauntiness of the man who has hada cold bath when he might just as easily have had a hot one. He lookedout of the porthole at the shimmering sea. He felt strong and happy andexuberant.

  It was not merely the spiritual pride induced by a cold bath that wasuplifting this young man. The fact was that, as he towelled his glowingback, he had suddenly come to the decision that this very day he wouldpropose to Wilhelmina Bennett. Yes, he would put his fortune to thetest, to win or lose it all. True, he had only known her for four days,but what of that?

  Nothing in the way of modern progress is more remarkable than the mannerin which the attitude of your lover has changed concerning proposals ofmarriage. When Samuel Marlowe's grandfather had convinced himself,after about a year and a half of respectful aloofness, that the emotionwhich he felt towards Samuel Marlowe's grandmother-to-be was love, thefashion of the period compelled him to approach the matter in aroundabout way. First, he spent an evening or two singing sentimentalballads, she accompanying him on the piano and the rest of the familysitting on the side-lines to see that no rough stuff was pulled. Havingnoted that she drooped her eyelashes and turned faintly pink when hecame to the "Thee--only thee!" bit, he felt a mild sense ofencouragement, strong enough to justify him in taking her sister asidenext day and asking if the object of his affections ever happened tomention his name in the course of conversation. Further _pour-parlers_having passed with her aunt, two more sisters, and her little brother,he felt that the moment had arrived when he might send her a volume ofShelley, with some of the passages marked in pencil. A few weeks later,he interviewed her father and obtained his consent to the paying of hisaddresses. And finally, after writing her a letter which began "Madam,you will not have been insensible to the fact that for some time pastyou have inspired in my bosom feelings deeper than those of ordinaryfriendship...." he waylaid her in the rose-garden and brought the thingoff.

  How different is the behaviour of the modern young man. His courtshipcan hardly be called a courtship at all. His methods are those of SirW. S. Gilbert's Alphonso.

  "Alphonso, who for cool assurance all creation licks, He up and said to Emily who has cheek enough for six: 'Miss Emily, I love you. Will you marry? Say the word!' And Emily said: 'Certainly, Alphonso, like a bird!'"

  Sam Marlowe was a warm supporter of the Alphonso method. He was a brightyoung man and did not require a year to make up his mind that WilhelminaBennett had been set apart by Fate from the beginning of time to be hisbride. He had known it from the moment he saw her on the dock, and allthe subsequent strolling, reading, talking, soup-drinking, tea-drinking,and shuffle-board-playing which they had done together had merelysolidified his original impression. He loved this girl with all theforce of a fiery nature--the fiery nature of the Marlowes was a by-wordin Bruton Street, Berkeley Square--and something seemed to whisper thatshe loved him. At any rate she wanted somebody like Sir Galahad, and,without wishing to hurl bouquets at himself, he could not see where shecould possibly get anyone liker Sir Galahad than himself. So, wind andweather permitting, Samuel Marlowe intended to propose to WilhelminaBennett this very day.

  He let down the trick basin which hung beneath the mirror and,collecting his shaving materials, began to lather his face.

  "I am the Bandolero!" sang Sam blithely through the soap. "I am, I amthe Bandolero! Yes, yes, I am the Bandolero!"

  The untidy heap of bedclothes in the lower berth stirred restlessly.

  "Oh, God!" said Eustace Hignett thrusting out a tousled head.

  Sam regarded his cousin with commiseration. Horrid things had beenhappening to Eustace during the last few days, and it was quite apleasant surprise each morning to find that he was still alive.

  "Feeling bad again, old man?"

  "I was feeling all right," replied Hignett churlishly, "until you beganthe farmyard imitations. What sort of a day is it?"

  "Glorious! The sea...."

  "Don't talk about the sea!"

  "Sorry! The sun is shining brighter than it has ever shone in thehistory of the race. Why don't you get up?"

  "Nothing will induce me to get up."

  "Well, go a regular buster and have an egg for breakfast."

  Eustace Hignett shuddered. He eyed Sam sourly. "You seem devilishpleased with yourself this morning!" he said censoriously.

  Sam dried the razor carefully and put it away. He hesitated. Then thedesire to confide in somebody got the better of him.

  "The fact is," he said apologetically, "I'm in love!"

  "In love!" Eustace Hignett sat up and bumped his head sharply againstthe berth above him. "Has this been going on long?"

  "Ever since the voyage started."

  "I think you might have told me," said Eustace reproachfully. "I toldyou my troubles. Why did you not let me know that this awful thing hadcome upon you?"

  "Well, as a matter of fact, old man, during these last few days I had anotion that your mind was, so to speak, occupied elsewhere."

  "Who is she?"

  "Oh, a girl I met on board."

  "Don't do it!" said Eustace Hignett solemnly. "As a friend I entreat younot to do it. Take my advice, as a man who knows women, and don't doit!"

  "Don't do what?"

  "Propose to her. I can tell by the glitter in your eye that you areintending to propose to this girl--probably this morning."

  "Not this morning--after lunch. I always think one can do oneself morejustice after lunch."

  "Don't do it. Women are the devil, whether they marry you or jilt you.Do you realise that women wear black evening dresses that have to behooked up in a hurry when you are late for the theatre, and that, out ofsheer wanton malignity, the hooks and eyes on those dresses are alsomade black? Do you realise...?"

  "Oh, I've thought it all out."

  "And take the matter of children. How would you like to become thefather--and a mere glance around you will show you that the chances areenormously in favour of such a thing happening--of a boy with spectaclesand protruding front teeth who asks questions all the time? Out of sixsmall boys whom I saw when I came on board, four wore spectacles and hadteeth like rabbits. The other two were equally revolting in differentstyles. How would you like to become the father...?"

  "There is no need to be indelicate," said Sam stiffly. "A man must takethese chances."

  "Give her the miss in baulk," pleaded Hignett. "Stay down here for therest of the voyage. You can easily dodge her when you get toSouthampton. And, if she sends messages, say you're ill and can't bedisturbed."

  Sam gazed at him, revolted. More than ever he began to understand how itwas that a girl with ideals had broken off her engagement with this man.He finished dressing, and, after a satisfying breakfast, went on deck.

  Sec. 2

  It was, as he had said, a glorious morning. The sample which he had hadthrough the porthole had not prepared
him for the magic of it. The shipswam in a vast bowl of the purest blue on an azure carpet flecked withsilver. It was a morning which impelled a man to great deeds, a morningwhich shouted to him to chuck his chest out and be romantic. The sightof Billie Bennett, trim and gleaming in a pale green sweater and whiteskirt had the effect of causing Marlowe to alter the programme which hehad sketched out. Proposing to this girl was not a thing to be put offtill after lunch. It was a thing to be done now and at once. The finestefforts of the finest cooks in the world could not put him in betterform than he felt at present.

  "Good morning, Miss Bennett."

  "Good morning, Mr. Marlowe."

  "Isn't it a perfect day?"

  "Wonderful!"

  "It makes all the difference on board ship if the weather is fine."

  "Yes, doesn't it?"

  How strange it is that the great emotional scenes of history, one ofwhich is coming along almost immediately, always begin in this prosaicway Shakespeare tries to conceal the fact, but there can be little doubtthat Romeo and Juliet edged into their balcony scene with a few remarkson the pleasantness of the morning.

  "Shall we walk round?" said Billie.

  Sam glanced about him. It was the time of day when the promenade deckwas always full. Passengers in cocoons of rugs lay on chairs, waiting ina dull trance till the steward should arrive with the eleven o'clocksoup. Others, more energetic, strode up and down. From the point of viewof a man who wished to reveal his most sacred feelings to a beautifulgirl, the place was practically a tube station during the rush hour.

  "It's so crowded," he said. "Let's go on to the upper deck."

  "All right. You can read to me. Go and fetch your Tennyson."

  Sam felt that fortune was playing into his hands. His four-days'acquaintance with the bard had been sufficient to show him that the manwas there forty ways when it came to writing about love. You could openhis collected works almost anywhere and shut your eyes and dab down yourfinger on some red-hot passage. A proposal of marriage is a thing whichit is rather difficult to bring neatly into the ordinary run ofconversation. It wants leading up to. But, if you once start readingpoetry, especially Tennyson's, almost anything is apt to give you yourcue. He bounded light-heartedly into the state-room, waking EustaceHignett from an uneasy dose.

  "Now what?" said Eustace.

  "Where's that copy of Tennyson you gave me? I left it--ah, here it is.Well, see you later!"

  "Wait! What are you going to do?"

  "Oh, that girl I told you about," said Sam making for the door. "Shewants me to read Tennyson to her on the upper deck."

  "Tennyson?"

  "Yes."

  "On the upper deck?"

  "Yes."

  "This is the end," said Eustace Hignett, turning his face to the wall.

  Sam raced up the companion-way as far as it went; then, going out ondeck, climbed a flight of steps and found himself in the only part ofthe ship which was ever even comparatively private. The main herd ofpassengers preferred the promenade deck, two layers below.

  He threaded his way through a maze of boats, ropes, and curious-shapedsteel structures which the architect of the ship seemed to have tackedon at the last moment in a spirit of sheer exuberance. Above him toweredone of the funnels, before him a long, slender mast. He hurried on, andpresently came upon Billie sitting on a garden seat, backed by the whiteroof of the smoke-room; beside this was a small deck which seemed tohave lost its way and strayed up here all by itself. It was the deck onwhich one could occasionally see the patients playing an odd game withlong sticks and bits of wood--not shuffleboard but something even lowerin the mental scale. This morning, however, the devotees of this pastimewere apparently under proper restraint, for the deck was empty.

  "This is jolly," he said sitting down beside the girl and drawing a deepbreath of satisfaction.

  "Yes, I love this deck. It's so peaceful."

  "It's the only part of the ship where you can be reasonably sure of notmeeting stout men in flannels and nautical caps. An ocean voyage alwaysmakes me wish that I had a private yacht."

  "It would be nice."

  "A private yacht," repeated Sam, sliding a trifle closer. "We would sailabout, visiting desert islands which lay like jewels in the heart oftropic seas."

  "We?"

  "Most certainly we. It wouldn't be any fun if you were not there."

  "That's very complimentary."

  "Well, it wouldn't. I'm not fond of girls as a rule...."

  "Oh, aren't you?"

  "No!" said Sam decidedly. It was a point which he wished to make clearat the outset. "Not at all fond. My friends have often remarked upon it.A palmist once told me that I had one of those rare spiritual natureswhich cannot be satisfied with substitutes but must seek and seek tillthey find their soul-mate. When other men all round me were fritteringaway their emotions in idle flirtations which did not touch their deepernatures, I was ... I was ... well, I wasn't, if you see what I mean."

  "Oh, you wasn't ... weren't?"

  "No. Some day I knew I should meet the only girl I could possibly love,and then I would pour out upon her the stored-up devotion of a lifetime,lay an unblemished heart at her feet, fold her in my arms and say 'Atlast!'"

  "How jolly for her. Like having a circus all to oneself."

  "Well, yes," said Sam after a momentary pause.

  "When I was a child I always thought that that would be the mostwonderful thing in the world."

  "The most wonderful thing in the world is love, a pure and consuminglove, a love which...."

  "Oh, hello!" said a voice.

  All through this scene, right from the very beginning of it, Sam had notbeen able to rid himself of a feeling that there was something missing.The time and the place and the girl--they were all present and correct;nevertheless there was something missing, some familiar object whichseemed to leave a gap. He now perceived that what had caused the feelingwas the complete absence of Bream Mortimer. He was absent no longer. Hewas standing in front of them with one leg, his head lowered as if hewere waiting for someone to scratch it. Sam's primary impulse was tooffer him a nut.

  "Oh, hello, Bream!" said Billie.

  "Hullo!" said Sam.

  "Hello!" said Bream Mortimer. "Here you are!"

  There was a pause.

  "I thought you might be here," said Bream.

  "Yes, here we are," said Billie.

  "Yes, we're here," said Sam.

  There was another pause.

  "Mind if I join you?" said Bream.

  "N--no," said Billie.

  "N--no," said Sam.

  "No," said Billie again. "No ... that is to say ... oh no, no at all."

  There was a third pause.

  "On second thoughts," said Bream, "I believe I'll take a stroll on thepromenade deck if you don't mind."

  They said they did not mind. Bream Mortimer, having bumped his headtwice against overhanging steel ropes, melted away.

  "Who is that fellow?" demanded Sam wrathfully.

  "He's the son of father's best friend."

  Sam started. Somehow this girl had always been so individual to him thathe had never thought of her having a father.

  "We have known each other all our lives," continued Billie. "Fatherthinks a tremendous lot of Bream. I suppose it was because Bream wassailing by her that father insisted on my coming over on this boat. I'min disgrace, you know I was cabled for and had to sail at a few days'notice. I...."

  "Oh, hello!"

  "Why, Bream!" said Billie looking at him as he stood on the old spot inthe same familiar attitude with rather less affection than the son ofher father's best friend might have expected. "I thought you said youwere going down to the promenade deck.

  "I did go down to the promenade deck. And I'd hardly got there when afellow who's getting up the ship's concert to-morrow night nobbled me todo something for it. I said I could only do conjuring tricks andjuggling and so on, and he said all right, do conjuring tricks andjuggling, then. He wante
d to know if I knew anyone else who would help.I came up to ask you," he said to Sam, "if you would do something."

  "No," said Sam. "I won't."

  "He's got a man who's going to lecture on deep-sea fish and a couple ofwomen who both want to sing 'The Rosary' but he's still a turn or twoshort. Sure you won't rally round?"

  "Quite sure."

  "Oh, all right." Bream Mortimer hovered wistfully above them. "It's agreat morning, isn't it?"

  "Yes," said Sam.

  "Oh, Bream!" said Billie.

  "Hello?"

  "Do be a pet and go and talk to Jane Hubbard. I'm sure she must befeeling lonely. I left her all by herself down on the next deck."

  A look of alarm spread itself over Bream's face.

  "Jane Hubbard! Oh, say, have a heart!"

  "She's a very nice girl."

  "She's so darned dynamic. She looks at you as if you were a giraffe orsomething and she would like to take a pot at you with a rifle."

  "Nonsense! Run along. Get her to tell you some of her big-game huntingexperiences. They are most interesting."

  Bream drifted sadly away.

  "I don't blame Miss Hubbard," said Sam.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Looking at him as if she wanted to pot at him with a rifle. I shouldlike to do it myself."

  "Oh, don't let's talk about Bream. Read me some Tennyson."

  Sam opened the book very willingly. Infernal Bream Mortimer hadabsolutely shot to pieces the spell which had begun to fall on them atthe beginning of their conversation. Only by reading poetry, it seemedto him, could it be recovered. And when he saw the passage at which thevolume had opened he realised that his luck was in. Good old Tennyson!He was all right. He had the stuff. You could rely on him every time.

  He cleared his throat.

  "Oh let the solid ground Not fail beneath my feet Before my life has found What some have found so sweet; Then let come what come may, What matter if I go mad, I shall have had my day.

  Let the sweet heavens endure, Not close and darken above me Before I am quite quite sure That there is one to love me...."

  This was absolutely topping. It was like diving off a spring-board. Hecould see the girl sitting with a soft smile on her face, her eyes, bigand dreamy, gazing out over the sunlit sea. He laid down the book andtook her hand.

  "There is something," he began in a low voice, "which I have been tryingto say ever since we met, something which I think you must have read inmy eyes."

  Her head was bent. She did not withdraw her hand.

  "Until this voyage began," he went on, "I did not know what life meant.And then I saw you! It was like the gate of heaven opening. You're thedearest girl I ever met, and you can bet I'll never forget...." Hestopped. "I'm not trying to make it rhyme," he said apologetically."Billie, don't think me silly ... I mean ... if you had the merestnotion, dearest ... I don't know what's the matter with me ... Billie,darling, you are the only girl in the world! I have been looking for youfor years and years and I have found you at last, my soul-mate. Surelythis does not come as a surprise to you? That is, I mean, you must haveseen that I've been keen.... There's that damned Walt Mason stuffagain!" His eyes fell on the volume beside him and he uttered anexclamation of enlightenment. "It's those poems!" he cried. "I've beenboning them up to such an extent that they've got me doing it too. WhatI'm trying to say is, Will you marry me?"

  She was drooping towards him. Her face was very sweet and tender, hereyes misty. He slid an arm about her waist. She raised her lips to his.

  Sec. 3

  Suddenly she drew herself away, a cloud on her face.

  "Darling," she said, "I've a confession to make."

  "A confession? You? Nonsense!"

  "I can't get rid of a horrible thought. I was wondering if this willlast."

  "Our love? Don't be afraid that it will fade ... I mean ... why, it's sovast, it's bound to last ... that is to say, of course it will."

  She traced a pattern on the deck with her shoe.

  "I'm afraid of myself. You see, once before--and it was not so very longago,--I thought I had met my ideal, but...."

  Sam laughed heartily.

  "Are you worrying about that absurd business of poor old EustaceHignett?"

  She started violently.

  "You know!"

  "Of course! He told me himself."

  "Do you know him? Where did you meet him?"

  "I've known him all my life. He's my cousin. As a matter of fact, we aresharing a state-room on board now."

  "Eustace is on board! Oh, this is awful! What shall I do when I meethim?"

  "Oh, pass it off with a light laugh and a genial quip. Just say: 'Oh,here you are!' or something. You know the sort of thing."

  "It will be terrible."

  "Not a bit of it. Why should you feel embarrassed? He must have realisedby now that you acted in the only possible way. It was absurd his everexpecting you to marry him. I mean to say, just look at itdispassionately ... Eustace ... poor old Eustace ... and _you_! ThePrincess and the Swineherd!"

  "Does Mr. Hignett keep pigs?" she asked, surprised.

  "I mean that poor old Eustace is so far below you, darling, that, withthe most charitable intentions, one can only look on his asking you tomarry him in the light of a record exhibition of pure nerve. A dear,good fellow, of course, but hopeless where the sterner realities of lifeare concerned. A man who can't even stop a dog-fight! In a world whichis practically one seething mass of fighting dogs, how could you trustyourself to such a one? Nobody is fonder of Eustace Hignett than I am,but ... well, I mean to say!"

  "I see what you mean. He really wasn't my ideal."

  "Not by a mile!"

  She mused, her chin in her hand.

  "Of course, he was quite a dear in a lot of ways."

  "Oh, a splendid chap," said Sam tolerantly.

  "Have you ever heard him sing? I think what first attracted me to himwas his beautiful voice. He really sings extraordinarily well."

  A slight but definite spasm of jealousy afflicted Sam. He had noobjection to praising poor old Eustace within decent limits, but theconversation seemed to him to be confining itself too exclusively to onesubject.

  "Yes?" he said. "Oh yes, I've heard him sing. Not lately. He doesdrawing-room ballads and all that sort of thing still, I suppose?"

  "Have you ever heard him sing 'My love is like a glowing tulip that inan old-world garden grows'?"

  "I have not had that advantage," replied Sam stiffly. "But anyone cansing a drawing-room ballad. Now something funny, something that willmake people laugh, something that really needs putting across ... that'sa different thing altogether."

  "Do you sing that sort of thing?"

  "People have been good enough to say...."

  "Then," said Billie decidedly, "you must certainly do something at theship's concert to-morrow! The idea of your trying to hide your lightunder a bushel! I will tell Bream to count on you. He is an excellentaccompanist. He can accompany you."

  "Yes, but ... well, I don't know," said Sam doubtfully. He could nothelp remembering that the last time he had sung in public had been at ahouse-supper at school, seven years before, and that on that occasionsomebody whom it was a lasting grief to him that he had been unable toidentify had thrown a pat of butter at him.

  "Of course you must sing," said Billie. "I'll tell Bream when I go downto lunch. What will you sing?"

  "Well--er--"

  "Well, I'm sure it will be wonderful whatever it is. You are sowonderful in every way. You remind me of one of the heroes of old!"

  Sam's discomposure vanished. In the first place, this was much more thesort of conversation which he felt the situation indicated. In thesecond place he had remembered that there was no need for him to sing atall. He could do that imitation of Frank Tinney which had been such ahit at the Trinity smoker. He was on safe ground there. He knew he wasgood. He clasped the girl to him and kissed her sixteen times
.

  Sec. 4

  Billie Bennett stood in front of the mirror in her state-room dreamilybrushing the glorious red hair that fell in a tumbled mass about hershoulders. On the lounge beside her, swathed in a business-like greykimono, Jane Hubbard watched her, smoking a cigarette.

  Jane Hubbard was a splendid specimen of bronzed, strapping womanhood.Her whole appearance spoke of the open air and the great wide spaces andall that sort of thing. She was a thoroughly wholesome, manly girl,about the same age as Billie, with a strong chin and an eye that hadlooked leopards squarely in the face and caused them to withdraw abashedinto the undergrowth, or where-ever it is that leopards withdraw whenabashed. One could not picture Jane Hubbard flirting lightly at gardenparties, but one could picture her very readily arguing with a mutinousnative bearer, or with a firm touch putting sweetness and light into thesoul of a refractory mule. Boadicea in her girlhood must have beenrather like Jane Hubbard.

  She smoked contentedly. She had rolled her cigarette herself with onehand, a feat beyond the powers of all but the very greatest. She waspleasantly tired after walking eighty-five times round the promenadedeck. Soon she would go to bed and fall asleep the moment her headtouched the pillow. But meanwhile she lingered here, for she felt thatBillie had something to confide in her.

  "Jane," said Billie, "have you ever been in love?"

  Jane Hubbard knocked the ash off her cigarette.

  "Not since I was eleven," she said in her deep musical voice. "He was mymusic-master. He was forty-seven and completely bald, but there was anappealing weakness in him which won my heart. He was afraid of cats, Iremember."

  Billie gathered her hair into a molten bundle and let it run through herfingers.

  "Oh, Jane!" she exclaimed. "Surely you don't like weak men. I like a manwho is strong and brave and wonderful."

  "I can't stand brave men," said Jane, "it makes them so independent. Icould only love a man who would depend on me in everything. Sometimes,when I have been roughing it out in the jungle," she went on ratherwistfully, "I have had my dreams of some gentle clinging man who wouldput his hand in mine and tell me all his poor little troubles and let mepet and comfort him and bring the smiles back to his face. I'm beginningto want to settle down. After all there are other things for a woman todo in this life besides travelling and big-game hunting. I should liketo go into Parliament. And, if I did that, I should practically have tomarry. I mean, I should have to have a man to look after the social endof life and arrange parties and receptions and so on, and sitornamentally at the head of my table. I can't imagine anything jollierthan marriage under conditions like that. When I came back a bit done upafter a long sitting at the House, he would mix me a whisky-and-soda andread poetry to me or prattle about all the things he had been doingduring the day.... Why, it would be ideal!"

  Jane Hubbard gave a little sigh. Her fine eyes gazed dreamily at a smokering which she had sent floating towards the ceiling.

  "Jane," said Billie. "I believe you're thinking of somebody definite.Who is he?"

  The big-game huntress blushed. The embarrassment which she exhibitedmade her look manlier than ever.

  "I don't know his name."

  "But there is really someone?"

  "Yes."

  "How splendid! Tell me about him."

  Jane Hubbard clasped her strong hands and looked down at the floor.

  "I met him on the Subway a couple of days before I left New York. Youknow how crowded the Subway is at the rush hour. I had a seat, ofcourse, but this poor little fellow--_so_ good-looking, my dear! hereminded me of the pictures of Lord Byron--was hanging from a strap andbeing jerked about till I thought his poor little arms would be wrenchedout of their sockets. And he looked so unhappy, as though he had somesecret sorrow. I offered him my seat, but he wouldn't take it. A coupleof stations later, however, the man next to me got out and he sat downand we got into conversation. There wasn't time to talk much. I told himI had been down-town fetching an elephant-gun which I had left to bemended. He was so prettily interested when I showed him the mechanism.We got along famously. But--oh, well, it was just another case of shipsthat pass in the night--I'm afraid I've been boring you."

  "Oh, Jane! You haven't! You see ... you see, I'm in love myself."

  "I had an idea you were," said her friend looking at her critically."You've been refusing your oats the last few days, and that's a suresign. Is he that fellow that's always around with you and who looks likea parrot?"

  "Bream Mortimer? Good gracious, no!" cried Billie indignantly. "As if Ishould fall in love with Bream!"

  "When I was out in British East Africa," said Miss Hubbard, "I had abird that was the living image of Bream Mortimer. I taught him towhistle 'Annie Laurie' and to ask for his supper in three nativedialects. Eventually he died of the pip, poor fellow. Well, if it isn'tBream Mortimer, who is it?"

  "His name is Marlowe. He's tall and handsome and very strong-looking. Hereminds me of a Greek god."

  "Ugh!" said Miss Hubbard.

  "Jane, we're engaged."

  "No!" said the huntress, interested. "When can I meet him?"

  "I'll introduce you to-morrow I'm so happy."

  "That's fine!"

  "And yet, somehow," said Billie, plaiting her hair, "do you ever havepresentiments? I can't get rid of an awful feeling that something'sgoing to happen to spoil everything."

  "What could spoil everything?"

  "Well, I think him so wonderful, you know. Suppose he were to doanything to blur the image I have formed of him."

  "Oh, he won't. You said he was one of those strong men, didn't you? Theyalways run true to form. They never do anything except be strong."

  Billie looked meditatively at her reflection in the glass.

  "You know I thought I was in love once before, Jane."

  "Yes?"

  "We were going to be married and I had actually gone to the church. AndI waited and waited and he didn't come; and what do you think hadhappened?"

  "What?"

  "His mother had stolen his trousers."

  Jane Hubbard laughed heartily.

  "It's nothing to laugh at," said Billie seriously "It was a tragedy. Ihad always thought him romantic, and when this happened the scalesseemed to fall from my eyes. I saw that I had made a mistake."

  "And you broke off the engagement?"

  "Of course!"

  "I think you were hard on him. A man can't help his mother stealing histrousers."

  "No. But when he finds they're gone, he can 'phone to the tailor forsome more or borrow the janitor's or do _something_. But he simplystayed where he was and didn't do a thing. Just because he was too muchafraid of his mother to tell her straight out that he meant to bemarried that day."

  "Now that," said Miss Hubbard, "is just the sort of trait in a man whichwould appeal to me. I like a nervous, shrinking man."

  "I don't. Besides, it made him seem so ridiculous, and--I don't know whyit is--I can't forgive a man for looking ridiculous. Thank goodness, mydarling Sam couldn't look ridiculous, even if he tried. He's wonderful,Jane. He reminds me of a knight of the Round Table. You ought to see hiseyes flash."

  Miss Hubbard got up and stretched herself with a yawn.

  "Well, I'll be on the promenade deck after breakfast to-morrow. If youcan arrange to have him flash his eyes then--say between nine-thirty andten--I shall be delighted to watch them."