Alice looked extremely embarrassed. The head waiter hovered hopefully. The Greek waiter held the chair for her and the head waiter departed. The orchestra began playing something sticky, sweet. I sat down and looked at the menu, determined to get my money's worth out of the joint. Most of the courses were listed in French and I had an impulse to sail it across the room. Then I laughed.

'Bring us a couple of martinis while I consult my dictionary,' I said to the waiter, and when he left I said to Alice, 'I'm going to have some broiled pheasant and champagne and I know the white folks are going to say, "That's the nearest that nigger can find to chicken and gin," but I don't even give a damn.'

Alice's eyes frightened me; I thought for a moment that I'd lost her. Then she said in an even voice, 'A good sauterne would be better with your pheasant,' and I breathed again.

When the waiter returned with the martinis she became more at ease. The knowledge that she could order a meal with confidence set her up again. I started to bring her down but decided against it; she needed whatever she could get from any source, I thought.

'You order for both of us,' I said.

She and the Greek had a fine time discussing food. He was enjoying it too, it seemed, and she was getting her kicks until a woman at a nearby table giggled. Chances are the woman hadn't given her a thought; but she went into her shell again. Even the waiter noticed it. She finished ordering and the waiter left.

I looked across at the party next to us. A young ensign with chiselled features sat across from a very blonde girl in a gorgeous print dress. Her hair was drawn in a bun at the nape of her neck, showing a small, shell-like ear. I let my gaze rest on her for a moment, taking in the delicate lines of her chin and throat, the sensitive lines about her mouth and the clean curved sweep of her neck. My gaze moved slightly and I looked squarely into the eyes of the ensign.