'Perhaps you've forgotten the names of the different parts of a boat. Madame Frabelle?' 'Oh, I think not, Mr Ottley. It's a good while since I was on the river, but it's not the sort of thing one forgets, and I'm supposed to have rather a good memory.' 'I'm sure you have--a wonderful memory--still, where I'm sitting is not the stern.' There was a somewhat sulky silence. They admired the scenery of the river. Madame Frabelle said she loved the distant glimpses of the grey old palace of the Tudors, and asked him if he could imagine what it was like when it was gay all day with the clanking of steel and prancing horses and things. 'How I love Hampton Court!' she said. 'It looks so quiet and peaceful. I think I should like to live there. Think of the evenings in that wonderful old place, with its panelled walls, and the echo of feet that are no longer there, down the cold, stone corridors--' Bruce gave a slight laugh. 'Echo of feet that are no longer there? But how could that be? Dear me, how poetical you are, Madame Frabelle!' 'I mean the imaginary echo.' 'Imaginary--ah, yes. You're very imaginative, aren't you, Madame Frabelle? Well, I don't know whether it's imagination or not, but, do you know, I fancy that queer feeling of mine seems to be coming on again.' 'What queer feeling?' 'I told you about it, and you were very sympathetic the other night, before dinner. A kind of emptiness in the feet, and a hollowness in the head, the feeling almost, but not quite, of faintness.' 'It's nearly two o'clock. Perhaps you're hungry,' said Madame Frabelle. Bruce thought this was not fair, putting all the hunger on to him, as if she had never felt anything so prosaic. Madame Frabelle always behaved as if she were superior to the weaknesses of hunger or sleep, and denied ever suffering from either. 'It may be. I had no breakfast,' said Bruce untruthfully, as though it were necessary to apologise for requiring food to sustain life. 'Nor did I,' said Madame Frabelle hastily. 'Well, don't you feel that you would like a little lunch?' 'Oh no--oh dear, no. Still, I dare say some food would do you good, Mr Ottley--keep you up. I'll come and watch you.' 'But you must have something too.' 'Must I? Oh, very well, just to keep you company.' They got out very briskly, and, leaving their battered-looking coffin (called ironically the _Belle of the River_), they walked with quick steps to the nearest hotel. Here they found a selection of large, raw-looking cold beef, damp, tired-looking ham, bread, cheese, celery, and dessert in the form of dry apples, oranges, and Brazil nuts that had long left their native land. Bruce decided that the right thing to drink was shandy-gaff, but, to keep up her Continental reputation, Madame Frabelle said she would like a little light wine of the country. 'Red, white, or blue?' asked Bruce, whose spirits were rising. She laughed very heartily, and decided on a little red.