"One would think you'd seen them all--all the women and all the eyelashes!" She looked at him at last, and her soft, smoke-blue eyes were the colour of her sapphire brooch and chain. "I've seen my share of fair ladies." "So I've heard." "You've probably heard a good deal that isn't true." Severance glanced at Mrs. Sorel, or at what he could see of her, which was mostly book, lorgnettes, and hand. She seemed absorbed. He leaned towards Marise. "The last three days have been a hundred years long," he murmured. "Why? Have you been seasick, poor boy?" "No!" (This was a slight deviation from the truth.) "I've been beastly dull without you." "If you're such a good sailor, couldn't you walk, and read, and----" "I couldn't be bothered doing anything intelligent. I moped in my cabin." ("Moped" was one word for what he had done.) "I----" "Oh, here comes Samson again!" Marise broke in. "Isn't that absolutely the name for him? It jumped into my head when he passed before and gave me that wild sort of look--did you notice?" "I did," said Severance drily. "I thought you didn't. Your eyes were apparently glued to your gold bag." "What's the good of being an actress if you can't see two things at once, especially if one of them's the biggest thing on the ship? Nobody could help noticing that--any more than if Mont Blanc suddenly waltzed down stage from off the back drop." "Waltzed? 'Galumped' is the word in this case." "Oh, do you think so?" Marise appealed. "He walks like a man used to wide, free spaces." "Like a farmer, you mean. To my mind, that's his part: Hodge--not Samson." "I've forgotten what Samson was, I'm ashamed to say, before he played opposite Delilah," confessed Marise. "I suppose he was a warrior--most men were in those days--as now. This might be one--if it weren't for the clothes. They certainly are the limit! But do you know, he could be very distinguished-looking, even handsome, decently turned out?" "No, I don't know it, my child." Severance beat down his irritation. "The only way I can picture that ugly blighter being decently 'turned out,' is out of a respectable club." "You talk as if you had a grudge against my provincial Samson," laughed Marise, whose blue eyes had followed the "blighter" along the deck to the point of disappearance. "I don't want to talk about him at all," protested Severance. "I want to talk about you." "We're always talking about me!" smiled Marise, who was honestly not aware how she enjoyed talking about herself, or how soon she tired of most other subjects. "If you won't talk of one man, let's talk of another! For instance, have you seen our V.C. passenger?" Severance flushed slightly. "Didn't I tell you, angel girl, that I've been in my cabin the whole time?"