“I’m not frightened of fish,” said Lychnis. “I’ll kick them.” Anticipating her father’s consent, she vanished into the interior of her boat, followed by Ruby; and Ambrose remarks that, after the silk robes in which they had for so many days suffered obliteration, the manifestation of their naked limbs and plum-coloured bodies was quite surprising. Soon four of the party were in the river—the two young women, Quentin (whom Ambrose likens to a piece of live rock), and Fulke (who was dragonish). They sported and splashed round the leading boat like water-gods, or swam far ahead, dark little heads and shining arms driving showers of water-drops. Then Lychnis and Ruby, when they were tired of it, played at being hippopotamuses, like children. That was on the suggestion of Lychnis; and Ambrose, leaning out of his window when she plunged, saw her shortened body down under the water, and her pale pretending face, her still eyes, when she floated up through the water to breathe. She was followed by the dim mass of Quentin, who had suddenly appeared beside her from under the boat. “I nearly had you,” he said, spouting water from his mouth. “Drown with me, and let us be drifted into some underwater cave, locked together in a never-ending river-dream.” She made a fox-face at him. The others swam in their turn. After the bathe they had a meal, and some strolled in the groves and some slept in the warmth, and later in the day they went on again, singing, and satisfied with the still splendour of evening. They spent the night in a creek, among clumps of bamboo.