CHAPTER FOUR
It was the fourth morning of the voyage. Of course, when this story isdone in the movies they won't be satisfied with a bald statement likethat; they will have a Spoken Title or a Cut-Back Sub-Caption orwhatever they call the thing in the low dens where motion-picturescenario-lizards do their dark work, which will run:--
AND SO, CALM AND GOLDEN, THE DAYS WENT BY, EACH FRAUGHT WITH HOPE AND YOUTH AND SWEETNESS, LINKING TWO YOUNG HEARTS IN SILKEN FETTERS FORGED BY THE LAUGHING LOVE-GOD.
and the males in the audience will shift their chewing gum to the othercheek and take a firmer grip of their companions' hands and the man atthe piano will play "Everybody wants a key to my cellar" or somethingequally appropriate, very soulfully and slowly, with a wistful eye onthe half-smoked cigarette which he has parked on the lowest octave andintends finishing as soon as the picture is over. But I prefer theplain frank statement that it was the fourth day of the voyage. That ismy story and I mean to stick to it.
Samuel Marlowe, muffled in a bathrobe, came back to the stateroom fromhis tub. His manner had the offensive jauntiness of the man who has hada cold bath when he might just as easily have had a hot one. He lookedout of the porthole at the shimmering sea. He felt strong and happy andexuberant.
It was not merely the spiritual pride induced by a cold bath that wasuplifting this young man. The fact was that, as he towelled his glowingback, he had suddenly come to the decision that this very day he wouldpropose to Wilhelmina Bennett. Yes, he would put his fortune to thetest, to win or lose it all. True, he had only known her for four days,but what of that?
Nothing in the way of modern progress is more remarkable than themanner in which the attitude of your lover has changed concerningproposals of marriage. When Samuel Marlowe's grandfather had convincedhimself, after about a year and a half of respectful aloofness, that theemotion which he felt towards Samuel Marlowe's grandmother-to-be waslove, the fashion of the period compelled him to approach the matter in aroundabout way. First, he spent an evening or two singing sentimentalballads, she accompanying him on the piano and the rest of the familysitting on the side-lines to see that no rough stuff was pulled. Havingnoted that she drooped her eyelashes and turned faintly pink when he cameto the "Thee--only thee!" bit, he felt a mild sense of encouragement,strong enough to justify him in taking her sister aside next day andasking if the object of his affections ever happened to mention his namein the course of conversation. Further _pour-parlers_ having passedwith her aunt, two more sisters, and her little brother, he felt that themoment had arrived when he might send her a volume of Shelley, withsome of the passages marked in pencil. A few weeks later, heinterviewed her father and obtained his consent to the paying of hisaddresses. And finally, after writing her a letter which began "Madam!you will not have been insensible to the fact that for some time pastyou have inspired in my bosom feelings deeper than those of ordinaryfriendship...." he waylaid her in the rose-garden and brought the thingoff.
How different is the behaviour of the modern young man. His courtshipcan hardly be called a courtship at all. His methods are those of SirW. S. Gilbert's Alphonso.
"Alphonso, who for cool assurance all creation licks, He up and said to Emily who has cheek enough for six: 'Miss Emily, I love you. Will you marry? Say the word!' And Emily said: 'Certainly, Alphonso, like a bird!'"
Sam Marlowe was a warm supporter of the Alphonso method. He was abright young man and did not require a year to make up his mind thatWilhelmina Bennett had been set apart by Fate from the beginning oftime to be his bride. He had known it from the moment he saw her on thedock, and all the subsequent strolling, reading, talking, soup-drinking,tea-drinking, and shuffle-board-playing which they had done togetherhad merely solidified his original impression. He loved this girl withall the force of a fiery nature--the fiery nature of the Marlowes was abyword in Bruton Street, Berkeley Square--and something seemed towhisper that she loved him. At any rate she wanted somebody like SirGalahad, and, without wishing to hurl bouquets at himself, he could notsee where she could possibly get anyone liker Sir Galahad than himself.So, wind and weather permitting, Samuel Marlowe intended to propose toWilhelmina Bennett this very day.
He let down the trick basin which hung beneath the mirror and,collecting his shaving materials, began to lather his face.
"I am the Bandolero!" sang Sam blithely through the soap, "I am, I amthe Bandolero! Yes, yes, I am the Bandolero!"
The untidy heap of bedclothes in the lower berth stirred restlessly.
"Oh, God!" said Eustace Hignett thrusting out a tousled head.
Sam regarded his cousin with commiseration. Horrid things had beenhappening to Eustace during the last few days, and it was quite apleasant surprise each morning to find that he was still alive.
"Feeling bad again, old man?"
"I was feeling all right," replied Hignett churlishly, "until you beganthe farmyard imitations. What sort of a day is it?"
"Glorious! The sea...."
"Don't talk about the sea!"
"Sorry! The sun is shining brighter than it has ever shone in thehistory of the race. Why don't you get up?"
"Nothing will induce me to get up."
"Well, go a regular buster and have an egg for breakfast."
Eustace Hignett shuddered.
"Do you think I am an ostrich?" He eyed Sam sourly. "You seem devilishpleased with yourself this morning!"
Sam dried the razor carefully and put it away. He hesitated. Then thedesire to confide in somebody got the better of him.
"The fact is," he said apologetically, "I'm in love!"
"In love!" Eustace Hignett sat up and bumped his head sharply againstthe berth above him. "Has this been going on long?"
"Ever since the voyage started."
"I think you might have told me," said Eustace reproachfully. "I toldyou my troubles. Why did you not let me know that this awful thing hadcome upon you?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, old man, during these last few days I had anotion that your mind was, so to speak, occupied elsewhere."
"Who is she?"
"Oh, a girl I met on board."
"Don't do it!" said Eustace Hignett solemnly. "As a friend I entreatyou not to do it! Take my advice, as a man who knows women, and don'tdo it!"
"Don't do what?"
"Propose to her. I can tell by the glitter in your eye that you areintending to propose to this girl--probably this morning. Don't do it.Women are the devil, whether they marry you or jilt you. Do you realisethat women wear black evening dresses that have to be hooked up in ahurry when you are late for the theatre, and that, out of sheer wantonmalignity, the hooks and eyes on those dresses are also made black? Doyou realise...?"
"Oh, I've thought it all out."
"And take the matter of children. How would you like to become thefather--and a mere glance around you will show you that the chances areenormously in favour of such a thing happening--of a boy withspectacles and protruding front teeth who asks questions all the time?Out of six small boys whom I saw when I came on board, four worespectacles and had teeth like rabbits. The other two were equallyrevolting in different styles. How would you like to become thefather...?"
"There is no need to be indelicate," said Sam stiffly. "A man must takethese chances."
"Give her the miss in baulk," pleaded Hignett. "Stay down here for therest of the voyage. You can easily dodge her when you get toSouthampton. And, if she sends messages, say you're ill and can't bedisturbed."
Sam gazed at him, revolted. More than ever he began to understand howit was that a girl with ideals had broken off her engagement with thisman. He finished dressing, and, after a satisfying breakfast, went ondeck.
* * * * *
It was, as he had said, a glorious morning. The sample which he had hadthrough the porthole had not prepared him for the magic of it. The shipswam in a vast bowl of the purest blue on an azure carpet flecked withsilver. It was a morning w
hich impelled a man to great deeds, a morningwhich shouted to him to chuck his chest out and be romantic. The sightof Billie Bennett, trim and gleaming in a pale green sweater and awhite skirt had the effect of causing Marlowe to alter the programmewhich he had sketched out. Proposing to this girl was not a thing to beput off till after lunch. It was a thing to be done now and at once. Thefinest efforts of the finest cooks in the world could not put him inbetter form than he felt at present.
"Good morning, Miss Bennett."
"Good morning, Mr. Marlowe."
"Isn't it a perfect day?"
"Wonderful!"
"It makes all the difference on board ship if the weather is fine."
"Yes, doesn't it?"
"Shall we walk round?" said Billie.
Sam glanced about him. It was the time of day when the promenade deckwas always full. Passengers in cocoons of rugs lay on chairs, waitingin a dull trance till the steward should arrive with the eleven o'clocksoup. Others, more energetic, strode up and down. From the point ofview of a man who wished to reveal his most sacred feelings to abeautiful girl, the place was practically Fifth Avenue and Forty-secondStreet.
"It's so crowded," he said. "Let's go on to the upper deck."
"All right. You can read to me. Go and fetch your Tennyson."
Sam felt that fortune was playing into his hands. His four-days'acquaintance with the bard had been sufficient to show him that the manwas there forty ways when it came to writing about love. You could openhis collected works almost anywhere and shut your eyes and dab downyour finger on some red-hot passage. A proposal of marriage is a thingwhich it is rather difficult to bring neatly into the ordinary run ofconversation. It wants leading up to. But, if you once start readingpoetry, especially Tennyson's, almost anything is apt to give you yourcue. He bounded light-heartedly into the state-room, waking EustaceHignett from an uneasy dose.
"Now what?" said Eustace.
"Where's that copy of Tennyson you gave me? I left it--ah, here it is.Well, see you later!"
"Wait! What are you going to do?"
"Oh, that girl I told you about," said Sam making for the door. "Shewants me to read Tennyson to her on the upper deck."
"Tennyson?"
"Yes."
"On the upper deck?"
"That's the spot."
"This is the end," said Eustace Hignett, turning his face to the wall.
Sam raced up the companion-way as far as it went; then, going out ondeck, climbed a flight of steps and found himself in the only part ofthe ship which was ever even comparatively private. The main herd ofpassengers preferred the promenade deck, two layers below.
He threaded his way through a maze of boats, ropes, and curious-shapedsteel structures which the architect of the ship seemed to have tackedon at the last moment in a spirit of sheer exuberance. Above himtowered one of the funnels, before him a long, slender mast. He hurriedon, and presently came upon Billie sitting on a garden seat, backed bythe white roof of the smoke-room; beside this was a small deck whichseemed to have lost its way and strayed up here all by itself. It wasthe deck on which one could occasionally see the patients playing anodd game with long sticks and bits of wood--not shuffleboard butsomething even lower in the mental scale. This morning, however, thedevotees of this pastime were apparently under proper restraint, forthe deck was empty.
"This is jolly," he said, sitting down beside the girl and drawing adeep breath of satisfaction.
"Yes, I love this deck. It's so peaceful."
"It's the only part of the ship where you can be reasonably sure of notmeeting stout men in flannels and nautical caps. An ocean voyage alwaysmakes me wish that I had a private yacht."
"It would be nice."
"A private yacht," repeated Sam sliding a trifle closer. "We would sailabout, visiting desert islands which lay like jewels in the heart oftropic seas."
"We?"
"Most certainly we. It wouldn't be any fun if you were not there."
"That's very complimentary."
"Well, it wouldn't. I'm not fond of girls as a rule...."
"Oh, aren't you?"
"No!" said Sam decidedly. It was a point which he wished to make clearat the outset. "Not at all fond. My friends have often remarked uponit. A palmist once told me that I had one of those rare spiritualnatures which cannot be satisfied with substitutes but must seek andseek till they find their soul-mate. When other men all round me werefrittering away their emotions in idle flirtations which did not touchtheir deeper natures, I was ... I was ... well, I wasn't, if you see what Imean."
"Oh, you wasn't ... weren't--?"
"No. Some day I knew I should meet the only girl I could possibly love,and then I would pour out upon her the stored-up devotion of alifetime, lay an unblemished heart at her feet, fold her in my arms andsay 'At last!'"
"How jolly for her. Like having a circus all to oneself."
"Well, yes," said Sam after a momentary pause.
"When I was a child I always thought that that would be the mostwonderful thing in the world."
"The most wonderful thing in the world is love, a pure and consuminglove, a love which...."
"Oh, hello!" said a voice.
All through this scene, right from the very beginning of it, Sam hadnot been able to rid himself of a feeling that there was somethingmissing. The time and the place and the girl--they were all present andcorrect; nevertheless there was something missing, some familiar objectwhich seemed to leave a gap. He now perceived that what had caused thefeeling was the complete absence of Bream Mortimer. He was absent nolonger. He was standing in front of them with one leg, his head loweredas if he were waiting for someone to scratch it. Sam's primary impulsewas to offer him a nut.
"Oh, hello, Bream!" said Billie.
"Hullo!" said Sam.
"Hullo!" said Bream Mortimer. "Here you are!"
There was a pause.
"I thought you might be here," said Bream.
"Yes, here we are," said Billie.
"Yes, we're here," said Sam.
There was another pause.
"Mind if I join you?" said Bream.
"N-no," said Billie.
"N-no," said Sam.
"No," said Billie again. "No ... that is to say ... oh no, not at all."
There was a third pause.
"On second thoughts," said Bream, "I believe I'll take a stroll on thepromenade deck, if you don't mind."
They said they did not mind. Bream Mortimer, having bumped his headtwice against overhanging steel ropes, melted away.
"Who is that fellow?" demanded Sam wrathfully.
"He's the son of father's best friend."
Sam started. Somehow this girl had always been so individual to him thathe had never thought of her having a father.
"We have known each other all our lives," continued Billie. "Fatherthinks a tremendous lot of Bream. I suppose it was because Bream wassailing by her that father insisted on my coming over on this boat. I'min disgrace, you know. I was cabled for and had to sail at a few days'notice. I...."
"Oh, hello!"
"Why, Bream!" said Billie, looking at him as he stood on the old spotin the same familiar attitude with rather less affection than the sonof her father's best friend might have expected. "I thought you saidyou were going down to the Promenade Deck."
"I did go down to the promenade deck. And I'd hardly got there when afellow who's getting up the ship's concert to-morrow night nobbled meto do a couple of songs. He wanted to know if I knew anyone else whowould help. I came up to ask you," he said to Sam, "if you would dosomething."
"No," said Sam. "I won't."
"He's got a man who's going to lecture on deep-sea fish and a couple ofwomen who both want to sing 'The Rosary' but he's still an act or twoshort. Sure you won't rally round?"
"Quite sure."
"Oh, all right." Bream Mortimer hovered wistfully above them. "It's agreat morning, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Sam.
"Oh, Bream!" sai
d Billie.
"Hello?"
"Do be a pet and go and talk to Jane Hubbard. I'm sure she must befeeling 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 orsomething 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 huntingexperiences. 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 shouldlike 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 hadabsolutely shot to pieces the spell which had begun to fall on them atthe beginning of their conversation. Only by reading poetry, it seemedto him, could it be recovered. And when he saw the passage at which thevolume 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 apinch every time with the comfortable knowledge that he would notstrike 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. Hecould see the girl sitting with a soft smile on her face, her eyes, bigand dreamy, gazing out over the sunlit sea. He laid down the book andtook her hand.
"There is something," he began in a low voice, "which I have beentrying to say ever since we met, something which I think you must haveread 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 thedearest girl I ever met, and you can bet I'll never forget...." Hestopped. "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, youare the only girl in the world! I have been looking for you for yearsand years and I have found you at last, my soul-mate. Surely this doesnot come as a surprise to you? That is, I mean, you must have seen thatI've been keen ... There's that damned Walt Mason stuff again!" His eyesfell on the volume beside him and he uttered an exclamation ofenlightenment. "It's those poems!" he cried. "I've been boning them upto such an extent that they've got me doing it too. What I'm trying tosay is, Will you marry me?"
She was drooping towards him. Her face was very sweet and tender, hereyes 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 willlast."
"Our love? Don't be afraid that it will fade ... I mean ... why, it's sovast, 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 verylong ago,--I thought I had met my ideal, but...."
Sam laughed heartily.
"Are you worrying about that absurd business of poor old EustaceHignett?"
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, weare sharing a stateroom on board now."
"Eustace is on board! Oh, this is awful! What shall I do when I meethim?"
"Oh, pass 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 embarrassed? He must haverealised by now that you acted in the only possible way. It was absurdhis ever expecting you to marry him. I mean to say, just look at itdispassionately ... Eustace ... poor old Eustace ... and _you_! ThePrincess and the Swineherd!"
"Does Mr. Hignett keep pigs?" she asked, surprised.
"I mean that poor old Eustace is so far below you, darling, that, withthe most charitable intentions, one can only look on his asking you tomarry him in the light of a record exhibition of pure nerve. A dear,good fellow, of course, but hopeless where the sterner realities oflife are concerned. A man who can't even stop a dog-fight! In a worldwhich is practically one seething mass of fighting dogs, how could youtrust yourself to such a one? Nobody is fonder of Eustace Hignett thanI 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 himwas his beautiful voice. He really sings extraordinarily well."
A slight but definite spasm of jealousy afflicted Sam. He had noobjection to praising poor old Eustace within decent limits, but theconversation seemed to him to be confining itself too exclusively toone subject.
"Yes?" he said. "Oh yes, I've heard him sing. Not lately. He doesdrawing-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 inan old-world garden grows'?"
"I have not had that advantage," replied Sam stiffly. "But anyone cansing a drawing-room ballad. Now something funny, something that willmake people laugh, something that really needs putting across ... that'sa 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 theship's concert to-morrow! The idea of your trying to hide your lightunder a bushel! I will tell Bream to count on you. He is an excellentaccompanist. He can accompany you."
"Yes, but ... well, I don't know," said Sam doubtfully. He could not helpremembering that the last time he had sung in public had been at ahouse-supper at school, seven years before, and that on that occasionsomebody whom it was a lasting grief to him that he had been unable toidentify had thrown a pat of butter at him.
"Of course you must sing," said Billie. "I'll tell Bream when I go downto lunch. What will you sing?"
"Well--er--"
"Well, I'm sure it will be wonderful whatever it is. You are sowonderful 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 thesort of conversation which he felt the situation indicated. In thesecond place he had remembered that there was no need for him to singat all. He could do that imitation of Frank Tinney which had been sucha hit at the Trinity smoker. He was on safe ground there. He knew hewas good. He clasped the girl to him and kissed her sixteen times.
Suddenly, as he released her, the cloud came back into her face.
"My angel," he asked solicitously, "what's the matter?"
"I was thinking of father," she said.
The glowing splendour of the morning took on a touch of chill for Sam.
"Father!" he said thoughtfully. "Yes, I see what you mean! He willthink that we have been a little precipitate, eh?
He will require alittle time in order to learn to love me, you think?"
"He is sure to be pretty angry at first," agreed Billie. "You see Iknow he has always hoped that I would marry Bream."
"Bream! Bream Mortimer! What a silly thing to hope!"
"Well, you see, I told you that Mr. Mortimer was father's best friend.They are both over in England now, and are trying to get a house in thecountry for the summer which we can all share. I rather think the ideais to bring me and Bream closer together."
"How the deuce could that fellow be brought any closer to you? He'slike a burr as it is."
"Well, that was the idea, I'm sure. Of course, I could never look atBream now."
"I hate looking at him myself," said Sam feelingly.
A group of afflicted persons, bent upon playing with long sticks andbits of wood, now invaded the upper deck. Their weak-minded criesfilled the air. Sam and the girl rose.
"Touching on your father once more," he said as they made their waybelow, "is he a very formidable sort of man?"
"He can be a dear. But he's rather quick-tempered. You must be veryingratiating."
"I will practise it in front of the glass every morning for the rest ofthe voyage," said Sam.
He went down to the stateroom in a mixed mood of elation andapprehension. He was engaged to the most wonderful girl in the world,but over the horizon loomed the menacing figure of Father. He wished hecould induce Billie to allow him to waive the formality of thawingFather. Eustace Hignett had apparently been able to do so. But thatexperience had presumably engendered a certain caution in her. TheHignett fiasco had spoiled her for runaway marriages. Well, if it hadto be done, it must be done, and that was all there was to it.