d Sam making for the door. "She
wants me to read Tennyson to her on the upper deck."

"Tennyson?"

"Yes."

"On the upper deck?"

"Yes."

"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 on
deck, climbed a flight of steps and found himself in the only part of
the ship which was ever even comparatively private. The main herd of
passengers preferred the promenade deck, two layers below.

He threaded his way through a maze of boats, ropes, and curious-shaped
steel structures which the architect of the ship seemed to have tacked
on at the last moment in a spirit of sheer exuberance. Above him towered
one of the funnels, before him a long, slender mast. He hurried on, and
presently came upon Billie sitting on a garden seat, backed by the white
roof of the smoke-room; beside this was a small deck which seemed to
have lost its way and strayed up here all by itself. It was the deck on
which one could occasionally see the patients playing an odd game with
long sticks and bits of wood--not shuffleboard but something even lower
in the mental scale. This morning, however, the devotees of this pastime
were apparently under proper restraint, for the deck was empty.

"This is jolly," he said sitting down beside the girl and drawing a deep
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 not
meeting stout men in flannels and nautical caps. An ocean voyage always
makes me wish that I had a private yacht."

"It would be nice."

"A private yacht," repeated Sam, sliding a trifle closer. "We would sail
about, visiting desert islands which lay like jewels in the heart of
tropic 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 clear
at the outset. "Not at all fond. My friends have often remarked upon it.
A palmist once told me that I had one of those rare spiritual natures
which cannot be satisfied with substitutes but must seek and seek till
they find their soul-mate. When other men all round me were frittering
away their emotions in idle flirtations which did not touch their deeper
natures, I was ... I was ... well, I wasn't, if you see what