"Quite all right, madame. You got here in time, and that's what counts. But you'll have to hurry to get to your cabin before takeoff."
"Wait!" said Steward Davis. His long face had come to life as he looked at her admiringly and extended his tray of flowers.
"White roses? For me?" she said.
"Yes, madame. Compliments of the Star Line."
Turning her head, she moved away. "Thank you, but I'm not ready to wear white roses, yet. It's not that they're not lovely, but—" she raised her arms, burdened with their scented blooms, "you see that I already have so many flowers, and the red rose is still for the living!"
Davis banged his tray to the floor and shoved it aside with his foot.
"All right, madame. Now we'll have to hurry. We'll have to run!"
A final bell rang, a final light flashed.
On the floor below the ship, the crowds of relatives and wistful stay-at-homes gazed up; at the beautiful metal creation, poised on its slender fins, nose pointed towards the opened dome.