passenger on the boat, he was going to have need
of diverting society.

A footstep sounded in the passage outside. The door opened.

"Hullo, Eustace!" said Sam.

Eustace Hignett nodded listlessly, sat down on his bag, and emitted a
deep sigh. He was a small, fragile-looking young man with a pale,
intellectual face. Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. He
looked like a man who would write _vers libre_, as indeed he did.

"Hullo!" he said, in a hollow voice.

Sam regarded him blankly. He had not seen him for some years, but, going
by his recollections of him at the University, he had expected something
cheerier than this. In fact, he had rather been relying on Eustace to be
the life and soul of the party. The man sitting on the bag before him
could hardly have filled that role at a gathering of Russian novelists.

"What on earth's the matter?" said Sam.

"The matter?" Eustace Hignett laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, nothing. Nothing
much. Nothing to signify. Only my heart's broken." He eyed with
considerable malignity the bottle of water in the rack above his head, a
harmless object provided by the White Star Company for clients who
might desire to clean their teeth during the voyage.

"If you would care to hear the story...?" he said.

"Go ahead."

"It is quite short."

"That's good."

"Soon after I arrived in America, I met a girl...."

"Talking of girls," said Sam with enthusiasm, "I've just seen the only
one in the world that really amounts to anything. It was like this. I
was shoving my way through the mob on the dock, when suddenly...."

"Shall I tell you my story, or will you tell yours?"

"Oh, sorry! Go ahead."

Eustace Hignett scowled at the printed notice on the wall, informing
occupants of the state-room that the name of their steward was J. B.
Midgeley.

"She was an extraordinarily pretty girl...."

"So was mine! I give you my honest word I never in all my life saw
such...."

"Of course, if you prefer that I postponed my narrative?" said Eustace
coldly.

"Oh, sorry! Carry on."

"She was an extraordinarily pretty girl...."

"What was her name?"

"Wilhelmina Bennett. She was an extraordinarily pretty girl, and highly
intelligent. I read her all my poems, and she appreciated them
immensely. She enjoyed my singing. My conversation appeared to interest
her. She admired my...."

"I see. You made a hit. Now get on with the story."

"Don't bustle me," said Eustace querulously.

"We