“I haven’t seen your pyjamas. She talked to me about this elephant gun, and explained its mechanism. She told me the correct part of a hippopotamus to aim at, how to make a nourishing soup out of mangoes, and what to do when bitten by a Borneo wire-snake. You can imagine how she soothed my aching heart. My heart, if you recollect, was aching at the moment—quite unnecessarily if I had only known—because it was only a couple of days since my engagement to Wilhelmina Bennett had been broken off. Well, we parted at Sixty-sixth Street, and, strange as it may seem, I forgot all about her.” “Do it again!” “Tell it again?” “Good heavens, no! Forget all about her again.” “Nothing,” said Eustace Hignett gravely, “could make me do that. Our souls have blended. Our beings have called to one another from their deepest depths, saying.... There are your pyjamas, over in the corner ... saying ‘You are mine!’ How could I forget her after that? Well, as I was saying, we parted. Little did I know that she was sailing on this very boat! But just now she came to me as I writhed on the deck....” “Did you writhe?” asked Sam with a flicker of moody interest. “I certainly did!” “That’s good!” “But not for long.” “That’s bad!” “She came to me and healed me. Sam, that girl is an angel.” “Switch off the light when you’ve finished.” “She seemed to understand without a word how I was feeling. There are some situations which do not need words. She went away and returned with a mixture of some description in a glass. I don’t know what it was. It had Worcester Sauce in it. She put it to my lips. She made me drink it. She said it was what she always used in Africa for bull-calves with the staggers. Well, believe me or believe me not ... are you asleep?” “Yes.” “Believe me or believe me not, in under two minutes I was not merely freed from the nausea caused by your cigar. I was smoking myself! I was walking the deck with her without the slightest qualm. I was even able to look over the side from time to time and comment on the beauty of the moon on the water.... I have said some mordant things about women since I came on board this boat. I withdraw them unreservedly. They still apply to girls like Wilhelmina Bennett, but I have ceased to include the whole sex in my remarks. Jane Hubbard has restored my faith in Woman. Sam! Sam!” “What?” “I said that Jane Hubbard had restored my faith in Woman.” “Oh, all right.” Eustace Hignett finished undressing and got into bed. With a soft smile on his face he switched off the light. There was a long silence, broken only by the distant purring of the engines. At about twelve-thirty a voice came from the lower berth. “Sam!” “What is it now?” “There is a sweet womanly strength about her, Sam. She was telling me she once killed a panther with a hat-pin.” Sam groaned and tossed on his mattress. Silence fell again.