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 Marlowe 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 me yours?" "Oh, sorry! Go ahead." Eustace Hignett scowled at the printed notice on the wall informing occupants of the stateroom 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 would 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 rest of the story." "Don't bustle me," said Eustace querulously. "Well, you know, the voyage only takes eight days." "I've forgotten where I was." "You were saying what a devil of a chap she thought you. What happened? I suppose, when you actually came to propose, you found she was engaged to some other johnny?" "Not at all. I asked her to be my wife, and she consented. We both agreed that a quiet wedding was what we wanted--she thought her father might stop the thing if he knew, and I was dashed sure my mother would--so we decided to get married without telling anybody. By now," said Eustace, with a morose glance at the porthole, "I ought to have been on my honeymoon. Everything was settled. I had the license and the parson's fee. I had been breaking in a new tie for the wedding." "And then you quarrelled?" "Nothing of the kind. I wish you would stop trying to tell me the story. I'm telling _you_. What happened was this: somehow--I can't make out how--mother found out. And then, of course, it was all over. She stopped the thing."