“Shall I tell you my story, or will you tell yours?”

“Oh, sorry! Go ahead.”

Eustace Hignett scowled at the printed notice on the wall, informing occupants of the state-room that the name of their steward was J. B. Midgeley.

“She was an extraordinarily pretty girl....”

“So was mine! I give you my honest word I never in all my life saw such....”

“Of course, if you prefer that I postponed my narrative?” said Eustace coldly.

“Oh, sorry! Carry on.”

“She was an extraordinarily pretty girl....”

“What was her name?”

“Wilhelmina Bennett. She was an extraordinarily pretty girl, and highly intelligent. I read her all my poems, and she appreciated them immensely. She enjoyed my singing. My conversation appeared to interest her. She admired my....”