She was drooping towards him. Her face was very sweet and tender, her eyes misty. He slid an arm about her waist. She raised her lips to his.
-- 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 will last."
"Our love? Don"t be afraid that it will fade ... I mean ... why, it"s so vast, 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 long ago,--I thought I had met my ideal, but...."
Sam laughed heartily.
"Are you worrying about that absurd business of poor old Eustace Hignett?"
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 are sharing a state-room on board now."
"Eustace is on board! Oh, this is awful! What shall I do when I meet him?"
"Oh, pa.s.s 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 embarra.s.sed? He must have realised by now that you acted in the only possible way. It was absurd his ever expecting you to marry him. I mean to say, just look at it dispa.s.sionately ... Eustace ... poor old Eustace ... and _you_! The Princess and the Swineherd!"
"Does Mr. Hignett keep pigs?" she asked, surprised.
"I mean that poor old Eustace is so far below you, darling, that, with the most charitable intentions, one can only look on his asking you to marry him in the light of a record exhibition of pure nerve. A dear, good fellow, of course, but hopeless where the sterner realities of life are concerned. A man who can"t even stop a dog-fight! In a world which is practically one seething ma.s.s of fighting dogs, how could you trust yourself to such a one? n.o.body 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 him was his beautiful voice. He really sings extraordinarily well."
A slight but definite spasm of jealousy afflicted Sam. He had no objection to praising poor old Eustace within decent limits, but the conversation seemed to him to be confining itself too exclusively to one subject.
"Yes?" he said. "Oh yes, I"ve heard him sing. Not lately. He does drawing-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 in an old-world garden grows"?"
"I have not had that advantage," replied Sam stiffly. "But anyone can sing a drawing-room ballad. Now something funny, something that will make people laugh, something that really needs putting across ... that"s a 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 the ship"s concert to-morrow! The idea of your trying to hide your light under a bushel! I will tell Bream to count on you. He is an excellent accompanist. He can accompany you."
"Yes, but ... well, I don"t know," said Sam doubtfully. He could not help remembering that the last time he had sung in public had been at a house-supper at school, seven years before, and that on that occasion somebody whom it was a lasting grief to him that he had been unable to identify had thrown a pat of b.u.t.ter at him.
"Of course you must sing," said Billie. "I"ll tell Bream when I go down to lunch. What will you sing?"
"Well--er--"
"Well, I"m sure it will be wonderful whatever it is. You are so wonderful 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 the sort of conversation which he felt the situation indicated. In the second place he had remembered that there was no need for him to sing at all. He could do that imitation of Frank Tinney which had been such a hit at the Trinity smoker. He was on safe ground there. He knew he was good. He clasped the girl to him and kissed her sixteen times.
-- 4
Billie Bennett stood in front of the mirror in her state-room dreamily brushing the glorious red hair that fell in a tumbled ma.s.s about her shoulders. On the lounge beside her, swathed in a business-like grey kimono, 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 s.p.a.ces and all 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 had looked leopards squarely in the face and caused them to withdraw abashed into the undergrowth, or where-ever it is that leopards withdraw when abashed. One could not picture Jane Hubbard flirting lightly at garden parties, but one could picture her very readily arguing with a mutinous native bearer, or with a firm touch putting sweetness and light into the soul of a refractory mule. Boadicea in her girlhood must have been rather like Jane Hubbard.
She smoked contentedly. She had rolled her cigarette herself with one hand, a feat beyond the powers of all but the very greatest. She was pleasantly tired after walking eighty-five times round the promenade deck. Soon she would go to bed and fall asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. But meanwhile she lingered here, for she felt that Billie 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 my music-master. He was forty-seven and completely bald, but there was an appealing weakness in him which won my heart. He was afraid of cats, I remember."
Billie gathered her hair into a molten bundle and let it run through her fingers.
"Oh, Jane!" she exclaimed. "Surely you don"t like weak men. I like a man who is strong and brave and wonderful."