. That concluded his efforts in aid of the Seamen's
Orphans and Widows.

The spell which had lain on the audience broke. This imitation seemed to
them to possess in an extraordinary measure the one quality which
renders amateur imitations tolerable, that of brevity. They had seen
many amateur imitations, but never one as short as this. The saloon
echoed with their applause.

It brought no balm to Samuel Marlowe. He did not hear it. He had fled
for refuge to his state-room and was lying in the lower berth, chewing
the pillow, a soul in torment.

CHAPTER VII

SUNDERED HEARTS

There was a tap at the door. Sam sat up dizzily. He had lost all count
of time.

"Who's that?"

"I have a note for you, sir."

It was the level voice of J. B. Midgeley, the steward. The stewards of
the White Star Line, besides being the civillest and most obliging body
of men in the world, all have soft and pleasant voices. A White Star
steward, waking you up at six-thirty, to tell you that your bath is
ready, when you wanted to sleep on till twelve, is the nearest human
approach to the nightingale.

"A what?"

"A note, sir."

Sam jumped up and switched on the light. He went to the door and took
the note from J. B. Midgeley, who, his mission accomplished, retired in
an orderly manner down the passage. Sam looked at the letter with a
thrill. He had never seen the handwriting before, but, with the eye of
love, he recognised it. It was just the sort of hand he would have
expected Billie to write, round and smooth and flowing, the writing of a
warm-hearted girl. He tore open the envelope.

"Please come up to the top deck. I want to speak to you."

Sam could not disguise it from himself that he was a little
disappointed. I don't know if you see anything wrong with the letter,
but the way Sam looked at it was that, for a first love-letter, it might
have been longer and perhaps a shade warmer. And, without running any
risk of writer's cramp, she might have signed it.

However, these were small matters. No doubt the dear girl had been in a
hurry and so forth. The important point was that he was going to see
her. When a man's afraid, sings the bard, a beautiful maid is a cheering
sight to see; and the same truth holds good when a man has made an
exhibition of himself at a ship's concert. A woman's gentle sympathy,
that was what Samuel Marlowe wanted more than anything else at the
moment. That, he felt, was what the doctor ordered.