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The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University

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as utterly heartless. Marlowe regarded her behaviour<br />

as thoroughly sensible. She had made a mistake, and,<br />

realising this at <strong>the</strong> eleventh hour, she had had <strong>the</strong> force<br />

of character to correct it. He was sorry for poor old<br />

Eustace, but he really could not permit <strong>the</strong> suggesti<strong>on</strong><br />

that Wilhelmina Bennett—her friends called her Billie—<br />

had not behaved in a perfectly splendid way throughout.<br />

It was women like Wilhelmina Bennett—Billie to<br />

her intimates—who made <strong>the</strong> world worth living in.<br />

Her friends called her Billie. He did not blame <strong>the</strong>m.<br />

It was a delightful name and suited her to perfecti<strong>on</strong>.<br />

He practised it a few times. “Billie … Billie … Billie<br />

….” It certainly ran pleasantly off <strong>the</strong> t<strong>on</strong>gue. “Billie<br />

Bennett.” Very musical. “Billie Marlowe.” Still better.<br />

“We noticed am<strong>on</strong>g those present <strong>the</strong> charming and<br />

popular Mrs. ‘Billie’ Marlowe ….”<br />

A c<strong>on</strong>suming desire came over him to talk about <strong>the</strong><br />

girl to some<strong>on</strong>e. Obviously indicated as <strong>the</strong> party of <strong>the</strong><br />

sec<strong>on</strong>d part was Eustace Hignett. If Eustace was still<br />

capable of speech—and after all <strong>the</strong> boat was hardly rolling<br />

at all—he would enjoy a fur<strong>the</strong>r chat about his ru-<br />

P. G. Wodehouse<br />

37<br />

ined life. Besides, he had ano<strong>the</strong>r reas<strong>on</strong> for seeking<br />

Eustace’s society. As a man who had been actually engaged<br />

to marry this supreme girl, Eustace Hignett had<br />

an attracti<strong>on</strong> for Sam akin to that of some great public<br />

m<strong>on</strong>ument. He had become a sort of shrine. He had<br />

taken <strong>on</strong> a glamour. Sam entered <strong>the</strong> state-room almost<br />

reverentially, with something of <strong>the</strong> emoti<strong>on</strong>s of a boy<br />

going into his first dime museum.<br />

<str<strong>on</strong>g>The</str<strong>on</strong>g> exhibit was lying <strong>on</strong> his back, staring at <strong>the</strong> roof<br />

of <strong>the</strong> berth. By lying absolutely still and forcing himself<br />

to think of purely inland scenes and objects, he<br />

had c<strong>on</strong>trived to reduce <strong>the</strong> green in his complexi<strong>on</strong><br />

to a mere tinge. But it would be paltering with <strong>the</strong> truth<br />

to say that he felt deb<strong>on</strong>air. He received Sam with a<br />

wan austerity.<br />

“Sit down!” he said. “D<strong>on</strong>’t stand <strong>the</strong>re swaying like<br />

that. I can’t bear it.”<br />

“Why, we aren’t out of <strong>the</strong> harbour yet. Surely you<br />

aren’t going to be sea-sick already.”<br />

“I can issue no positive guarantee. Perhaps if I can<br />

keep my mind off it …. I have had good results for <strong>the</strong>

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