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altogether. No.”
    They said nothing for a time and Troy did not think there was any awkwardness in their silence.
    A lark sang madly overhead and the sound of quiet voices floated up from the lock. Above the embankment they could see the top of
Zodiac
’s wheel house. Now it began very slowly to sink. They heard Miss Rickerby-Carrick shout and laugh.
    A motor-cycle engine crescendoed out of the distance, clattered and exploded down the lane and then reduced its speed and noise and stopped.
    “One would think it was those two again,” said Troy.
    Dr Natouche rose. “It is,” he said, “I can see them. Actually, it is those two. They are raising their hands.”
    “How extraordinary,” she said idly. “Why should they turn up?”
    “They may be staying in the district. We haven’t come very far, you know.”
    “I keep forgetting. One’s values change on The River.” Troy broke of a fern frond and turned it between her fingers. Dr Natouche sat down again.
    “My father was an Ethiopian,” he said presently. “He came to this country with a Mission fifty years ago and married an Englishwoman. I was born and educated in England.”
    “Have you never been to your own country?”
    “Once. But I was alien there. And like my father, I married an Englishwoman. I am a widower. My wife died two months ago.”
    “Was that why you came on this cruise?”
    “We were to have come together.”
    “I see,” Troy said.
    “She would have enjoyed it. It was something we could have done,” he said.
    “Have you found many difficulties about being as you are? Black?”
    “Of course. How sensible of you to ask, Mrs Alleyn. One knows everybody thinks such questions.”
    “Well,” Troy said, “I’m glad it was all right to ask.”
    “I am perfectly at ease with you,” Dr Natouche stated rather, Troy felt, as he might have told a patient there was nothing the matter with her and really almost arousing a comparable pleasure. “Perfectly,” he repeated after a pause: “I don’t think, Mrs Alleyn, you could ever say anything to me that would change that condition.”
    Miss Rickerby-Carrick appeared at the top of the embankment. “Hoo-hoo!” she shouted. “What’s it like up there?”
    “Very pleasant,” Troy said.
    “Jolly good.” She floundered up the field towards them, blowing her nose as she came. Troy was suddenly very sorry for her. Were there, she asked herself, in Birmingham, where Miss Rickerby-Carrick lived, people, apart from Mavis, who actually welcomed her company?
    Dr Natouche fetched a sigh and stood up. “I see a gate over there into the lane,” he said. “I think there is time to walk back that way if you would care to do so.”
    “You go,” Troy muttered. “I’d better wait for her.”
    “Really? Very well.”
    He stayed for a moment or two, politely greeted Miss Rickerby-Carrick and then strode away. “
Isn’t
he a dear?” Miss Rickerby-Carrick panted. “
Don’t
you feel he’s somebody awfully special?”
    “He seems a nice man,” Troy answered and try as she might, she couldn’t help flattening her voice.
    “I do think we all ought to make a special effort. I get awfully worked-up about it. When people go on like Mr Pollock, you know. I tackled Mr Pollock about his attitude. I do that, you know, I do tackle people. I said: ‘Just because he’s got another pigmentation,’ I said, ‘why should you think he’s different.’ They’re
not
different. You do agree, don’t you?”
    “No,” Troy said. “I don’t. They are different. Profoundly.”
    “Oh! How
can
you say so?”
    “Because I think it’s true. They are different in depth from Anglo-Saxons. So are Slavs. So are Latins.”
    “Oh! If you mean like
that
,” she said and broke into ungainly laughter. “Oh, I see. Oh, yes. Then you
do
agree that we should make a special effort.”
    “Look, Miss Rickerby-Carrick—”
    “I say, do call me Hay.”
    “Yes—well—thank you. I was going to say that I don’t