The voluptuous young woman with the strikingly beautiful face and shoulder-length, golden-blonde hair was the vivacious new bride that all aboard ship were buzzing about.

What breathtaking loveliness!

And the handsome young husband was Paul Arden, son of Cornelius Arden of the brokerage millions, enroute to Paris where he would accept a diplomatic post with the American Embassy.

A dashing young man, ruggedly so… sort of Errol Flynn-ish, if I may.

Such unions must be made in heaven.

On the contrary, in a Board-of-Directors' chambers, I'd venture. She is of the Boston Clintons, you know… oil.

You are not a romantic soul, M'sieu'.

I'm a practical soul, Phillipe.

Ahhh, what a marvelous way to spend one's honeymoon… five glorious days… and nights at sea.

Hmmm, the marvel is the lovely Madame's legs, Phillipe. Have you ever in your whole existence laid eyes on such splendid specimens?

Frankly, I am an eye-man, M'sieu', and the enchanting creature has those long, almond-shaped, sea-green orbs that invariably throw me into ecstasy.

You both must be suffering from a hardening of the wrong arteries, I swear. Have you not yet swooned at the sight of her gorgeous hips and magnificent breasts?

Ah, then… but here she comes tripping along the deck… and I do believe I detect a trace of haughty anger to her step… yes, and a tear-stained cheek…

Janet Arden had been injured more mentally than any way else, she finally concluded, as she quickened her pace past the three old lechers ogling her from their deck chairs. Not that his horrific battering and pummeling hadn't bruised her physically… and of course, she had bled with an alarming profuseness, but it was the psychological damage that was almost more than she could bear.