.. well, he simply wouldn't do. That was all there
was to it. He simply didn't add up right. The man a girl like Wilhelmina
Bennett required for a husband was somebody entirely different ...
somebody, felt Samuel Marlowe, much more like Samuel Marlowe.
Swelled almost to bursting-point with these reflections, he went on
deck to join the ante-luncheon promenade. He saw Billie almost at once.
She had put on one of these nice sacky sport-coats which so enhance
feminine charms, and was striding along the deck with the breeze
playing in her vivid hair like the female equivalent of a Viking.
Beside her walked young Mr. Bream Mortimer.
Sam had been feeling a good deal of a fellow already, but at the sight
of her welcoming smile his self-esteem almost caused him to explode.
What magic there is in a girl's smile! It is the raisin which, dropped
in the yeast of male complacency, induces fermentation.
"Oh, there you are, Mr. Marlowe!"
"Oh, _there_ you are," said Bream Mortimer, with a slightly
different inflection.
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