He was passing the inquiry bureau on the C-deck, striding along with bent head and scowling brow, when a sudden exclamation caused him to look up, and the scowl was wiped from his brow as with a sponge. For there stood the girl he had met on the dock. With her was a superfluous young man who looked like a parrot.
"Oh, how are you?" asked the girl breathlessly.
"Splendid, thanks," said Sam.
"Didn't you get very wet?"
"I did get a little damp."
"I thought you would," said the young man who looked like a parrot. "Directly I saw you go over the side I said to myself: 'That fellow's going to get wet!'"
There was a pause.
"Oh!" said the girl. "May I—Mr.——?"
"Marlowe."
"Mr. Marlowe. Mr. Bream Mortimer."
Sam smirked at the young man. The young man smirked at Sam.
"Nearly got left behind," said Bream Mortimer.
"Yes, nearly."
"No joke getting left behind."
"No."
"Have to take the next boat. Lose a lot of time," said Mr. Mortimer, driving home his point.
The girl had listened to these intellectual exchanges with impatience. She now spoke again.
"Oh, Bream!"
"Hello?"
"Do be a dear and run down to the saloon and see if it's all right about our places for lunch."
"It is all right. The table steward said so."
"Yes, but go and make certain."
"All right."
He hopped away and the girl turned to Sam with shining eyes.
"Oh, Mr. Marlowe, you oughtn't to have done it! Really, you oughtn't! You might have been drowned! But I never saw anything so wonderful. It was like the stories of knights who used to jump into lions' dens after gloves!"
"Yes?" said Sam a little vaguely. The resemblance had not struck him. It seemed a silly hobby, and rough on the lions, too.
"It was the sort of thing Sir Lancelot or Sir Galahad would have done! But you shouldn't have bothered, really! It's all right, now."
"Oh, it's all right now?"
"Yes. I'd quite forgotten that Mr. Mortimer was to be on board. He has given me all the money I shall need. You see it was this way. I had to sail on this boat in rather a hurry. Father's head clerk was to have gone to the bank and got some money and met me on board and given it to me, but the silly old man was late and when he got to the dock they had just pulled in the gang-plank. So he tried to throw the money to me in a handkerchief and it fell into the water. But you shouldn't have dived in after it."
"Oh, well!" said Sam, straightening his tie, with a quiet, brave smile. He had never expected to feel grateful to that obese bounder who had shoved him off the rail, but now he would have liked to seek him out and shake him by the hand.
"You really are the bravest man I ever met!"
"Oh, no!"
"How modest you are! But I suppose all brave men are modest!"
"I was only too delighted at what looked like a chance of doing you a service."
"It was the extraordinary quickness of it that was so wonderful. I do admire presence of mind. You didn't hesitate for a second. You just shot over the side as though propelled by some irresistible force!"
"It was nothing, nothing really. One just happens to have the knack of keeping one's head and acting quickly on the spur of the moment. Some people have it, some haven't."
"And just think! As Bream was saying...."
"It is all right," said Mr. Mortimer, reappearing suddenly. "I saw a couple of the 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 state-room 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 III
SAM PAVES THE WAY
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 re-adjust 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 now 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 claim 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...."