“And just think! As Bream was saying….”
“It is all right,” said Mr. Mortimer, re-appearing suddenly. “I saw a couple of stewards and they both said it was all right. So it’s all right.”
“Splendid,” said the girl. “Oh, Bream!”
“Hello?”
“Do be an angel and run along to my stateroom and see if Pinky-Boodles is quite comfortable,”
“Bound to be.”
“Yes. But do go. He may be feeling lonely. Chirrup to him a little.”
“Chirrup?”
“Yes, to cheer him up.”
“Oh, all right.”
“Run along!”
Mr. Mortimer ran along. He had the air of one who feels that he only needs a peaked cap and a uniform two sizes too small for him to be a properly equipped messenger boy.
“And, as Bream was saying,” resumed the girl, “you might have been left behind.”
“That,” said Sam, edging a step closer, “was the thought that tortured me, the thought that a friendship so delightfully begun….”
“But it hadn’t begun. We have never spoken to each other before now.”
“Have you forgotten? On the dock….”
Sudden enlightenment came into her eyes,
“Oh, you are the man poor Pinky-Boodles bit!”
“The lucky man!”
Her face clouded.
“Poor Pinky is feeling the motion of the boat a little. It’s his first voyage.”
“I shall always remember that it was Pinky who first brought us together. Would you care for a stroll on deck?”
“Not just now, thanks. I must be getting back to my room to finish unpacking. After lunch, perhaps.”
“I will be there. By the way, you know my name, but….”
“Oh, mine?” She smiled brightly. “It’s funny that a person’s name is the last thing one thinks of asking. Mine is Bennett.”
“Bennett!”
“Wilhelmina Bennett. My friends,” she said softly as she turned away, “call me Billie!”
CHAPTER THREE
For some moments Sam remained where he was staring after the girl as she flitted down the passage. He felt dizzy. Mental acrobatics always have an unsettling effect, and a young man may be excused for feeling a little dizzy when he is called upon suddenly and without any warning to readjust all his preconceived views on any subject. Listening to Eustace Hignett’s story of his blighted romance, Sam had formed an unflattering opinion of this Wilhelmina Bennett who had broken off her engagement simply because on the day of the marriage his cousin had been short of the necessary wedding garment. He had, indeed, thought a little smugly how different his goddess of the red hair was from the object of Eustace Hignett’s affections. And how they had proved to be one and the same. It was disturbing. It was like suddenly finding the vampire of a five-reel feature film turn into the heroine.
Some men, on making the discovery of this girl’s identity, might have felt that Providence had intervened to save them from a disastrous entanglement. This point of view never occurred to Samuel Marlowe. The way he looked at it was that he had been all wrong about Wilhelmina Bennett. Eustace, he felt, had been to blame throughout. If this girl had maltreated Eustace’s finer feelings, then her reason for doing so must have been excellent and praiseworthy.
After all … poor old Eustace … quite a good fellow, no doubt in many ways … but, coming down to brass tacks, what was there about Eustace that gave him any license to monopolise the affections of a wonderful girl? Where, in a word, did Eustace Hignett get off? He made a tremendous grievance of the fact that she had broken off the engagement, but what right had he to go about the place expecting her to be engaged to him? Eustace Hignett, no doubt, looked upon the poor girl as utterly heartless. Marlowe regarded her behaviour as thoroughly sensible. She had made a mistake, and, realising this at the eleventh hour, she had had the force of character to correct it. He was sorry for poor old Eustace, but he really could not permit the suggestion that Wilhelmina Bennett—her friends called her Billie—had not behaved in a perfectly splendid way throughout. It was women like Wilhelmina Bennett—Billie to her intimates—who made the world worth living in.
Her friends called her Billie. He did not blame them. It was a delightful name and suited her to perfection. He practised it a few times. “Billie … Billie … Billie….” It certainly ran pleasantly off the tongue. “Billie Bennett.” Very musical, “Billie Marlowe.” Still better. “We noticed among those present the charming and popular Mrs. ‘Billie’ Marlowe.”