“No,” said Sam. “I won’t.”
“He’s got a man who’s going to lecture on deep-sea fish and a couple of women who both want to sing ‘The Rosary’ but he’s still an act or two short. Sure you won’t rally round?”
“Quite sure.”
“Oh, all right.” Bream Mortimer hovered wistfully above them. “It’s a great 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 be feeling 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 or something 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 hunting experiences. 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 should like to do it myself. What were you saying when he came up?”
“Oh, don’t let’s talk about me. Read me some Tennyson.”
Sam opened the book very willingly. Infernal Bream Mortimer had absolutely shot to pieces the spell which had begun to fall on them at the beginning of their conversation. Only by reading poetry, it seemed to him, could it be recovered. And when he saw the passage at which the volume had opened he realised that his luck was in. Good old Tennyson! He was all right. He had the stuff. You could send him to hit in a pinch every time with the comfortable knowledge that he would not strike out.
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. He could see the girl sitting with a soft smile on her face, her eyes, big and dreamy, gazing out over the sunlit sea. He laid down the book and took her hand.
“There is something,” he began in a low voice, “which I have been trying to say ever since we met, something which I think you must have read in my 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 the dearest girl I ever met, and you can bet I’ll never forget….” He stopped. “I’m not trying to make it rhyme,” he said apologetically. “Billie, don’t think me silly … I mean … if you had the merest notion, 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 you for years and years and I have found you at last, my soul-mate. Surely this does not come as a surprise to you? That is, I mean, you must have seen that I’ve been keen … There’s that damned Walt Mason stuff again!” His eyes fell on the volume beside him and he uttered an exclamation of enlightenment. “It’s those poems!” he cried. “I’ve been boning them up to such an extent that they’ve got me doing it too. What I’m trying to say is, Will you marry me?”
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.
*
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.”