A consuming desire came over him to talk about the girl to someone. Obviously indicated as the party of the second part was Eustace Hignett. If Eustace was still capable of speech—and after all the boat was hardly rolling at all—he would enjoy a further chat about his ruined life. Besides, he had another reason for seeking Eustace’s society. As a man who had been actually engaged to marry this supreme girl, Eustace Hignett had an attraction for Sam akin to that of some great public monument. He had become a sort of shrine. He had taken on a glamour. Sam entered the stateroom almost reverentially with something of the emotions of a boy going into his first dime museum.
The exhibit was lying on his back staring at the roof of the berth. By lying absolutely still and forcing himself to think of purely inland scenes and objects he had contrived to reduce the green in his complexion to a mere tinge. But it would be paltering with the truth to say that he felt debonair. He received Sam with a wan austerity.
“Sit down!” he said. “Don’t stand there swaying like that. I can’t bear it.”
“Why, we aren’t out of the harbour yet. Surely you aren’t going to be sea-sick already.”
“I can issue no positive guarantee. Perhaps if I can keep my mind off it … I have had good results for the last ten minutes by thinking steadily of the Sahara. There,” said Eustace Hignett with enthusiasm, “is a place for you! That is something like a spot! Miles and miles of sand and not a drop of water anywhere!”
Sam sat down on the lounge.
“You’re quite right. The great thing is to concentrate your mind on other topics. Why not, for instance, tell me some more about your unfortunate affair with that girl—Billie Bennett I think you said her name was.”
“Wilhelmina Bennett. Where on earth did you get the idea that her name was Billie?”
“I had a notion that girls called Wilhelmina were sometimes Billie to their friends.”
“I never call her anything but Wilhelmina. But I really cannot talk about it. The recollection tortures me.”
“That’s just what you want. It’s the counter-irritation principle. Persevere and you’ll soon forget that you’re on board ship at all.”
“There’s something in that,” admitted Eustace reflectively. “It’s very good of you to be so sympathetic and interested.”
“My dear fellow … anything that I can do … where did you meet her first, for instance?”
“At a dinner….” Eustace Hignett broke off abruptly. He had a good memory and he had just recollected the fish they had served at that dinner—a flabby and exhausted looking fish, half sunk beneath the surface of a thick white sauce.
“And what struck you most forcibly about her at first? Her lovely hair, I suppose?”
“How did you know she had lovely hair?”
“My dear chap, I naturally assumed that any girl with whom you fell in love would have nice hair.”
“Well, you are perfectly right, as it happens. Her hair was remarkably beautiful. It was red….”
“Like autumn leaves with the sun on them!” said Marlowe ecstatically.
“What an extraordinary thing! That is an absolutely exact description. Her eyes were a deep blue….”
“Or, rather, green.”
“Blue.”
“Green. There is a shade of green that looks blue.”
“What the devil do you know about the colour of her eyes?” demanded Eustace heatedly. “Am I telling you about her, or are you telling me?”
“My dear old man, don’t get excited. Don’t you see I am trying to construct this girl in my imagination, to visualise her? I don’t pretend to doubt your special knowledge, but after all green eyes generally do go with red hair and there are all shades of green. There is the bright green of meadow grass, the dull green of the uncut emerald, the faint yellowish green of your face at the present moment….”
“Don’t talk about the colour of my face! Now you’ve gone and reminded me just when I was beginning to forget.”
“Awfully sorry! Stupid of me! Get your mind off it again—quick! What were you saying? Oh, yes, this girl. I always think it helps one to form a mental picture of people if one knows something about their tastes—what sort of things they are interested in, their favourite topics of conversation, and so on. This Miss Bennett now, what did she like talking about?”