the hang of the thing. But he won't be really right. He has no pep, no
vim. Still, if you won't ... well, I think I'll be getting along to his
stateroom. I told him I would look in for a last rehearsal."

The door closed behind Sam, and Eustace Hignett, lying on his back,
gave himself up to melancholy meditation. He was deeply disturbed by
his cousin's sad story. He knew what it meant being engaged to
Wilhelmina Bennett. It was like being taken aloft in a balloon and
dropped with a thud on the rocks.

His reflections were broken by the abrupt opening of the door. Marlowe
rushed in. Eustace peered anxiously out of his berth. There was too much
cork on his cousin's face to allow of any real registering of emotion,
but he could tell from his manner that all was not well.

"What's the matter?"

Sam sank on the lounge.

"The bounder has quit!"

"The bounder? What bounder?"

"There is only one! Bream Mortimer, curse him! There may be others whom
thoughtless critics rank as bounders, but he is the only man really
deserving of the title. He refuses to appear! He has walked out on the
act! He has left me flat! I went into his stateroom just now, as
arranged, and the man was lying on his bunk, groaning."

"I thought you said the sea was like a millpond."