The day was full of sunshine and the river had a Maytime animation. Pink geraniums, vivid green lawns, gay awnings, bright glass, white paint and shining metal set the tone of Maidenhead life. At lunch there had been five or six small tables with quietly affectionate couples who talked in undertones, a tableful of bright-coloured Jews who talked in overtones, and a family party from the Midlands, badly smitten with shyness, who did not talk at all. “A resort, of honeymoon couples,” said the doctor, and then rather knowingly: “Temporary honeymoons, I fancy, in one or two of the cases.” “Decidedly temporary,” said Sir Richmond, considering the company--“in most of the cases anyhow. The two in the corner might be married. You never know nowadays.” He became reflective.... After lunch and coffee he rowed the doctor up the river towards Cliveden. “The last time I was here,” he said, returning to the subject, “I was here on a temporary honeymoon.” The doctor tried to look as though he had not thought that could be possible. “I know my Maidenhead fairly well,” said Sir Richmond. “Aquatic activities, such as rowing, punting, messing about with a boat-hook, tying up, buzzing about in motor launches, fouling other people’s boats, are merely the stage business of the drama. The ruling interests of this place are love--largely illicit--and persistent drinking.... Don’t you think the bridge charming from here?” “I shouldn’t have thought--drinking,” said Dr. Martineau, after he had done justice to the bridge over his shoulder. “Yes, the place has a floating population of quiet industrious soakers. The incurable river man and the river girl end at that.” Dr. Martineau encouraged Sir Richmond by an appreciative silence.