“And there is the spot where Byron landed.” She says it in English, in honor of the occasion—not loudly but in the slightly oratorical manner of guides, so that the Irish couple and the stocky teacher turn to look, and the chauffeur comes over to the rail. There is a sloping headland, a bay, another tiny port.

“He landed there,” says the teacher to her friend, who has not heard.

“Apollo?”

“Byron,” she says, but as if the confusion were understandable.

Only the Norwegians have shown no interest. They sit together with their hands linked, their feet on the lower rung of the rail, and look at the sea. Once they look at each other. A look such as that, though it passes between two people in a fraction of a second, is seen by everyone and is unforgettable.

Without speaking she releases his hand and brings the crumpled paper bag up from beneath her deck chair. In the bag there is a newspaper parcel and she unwraps this, spreading the paper over her knees. Pairing what she finds inside—two small loaves stuffed with cheese, two boiled eggs, and several tomatoes—she is calm, engrossed, more mysterious than Eleusis, more romantic than Byron. He reaches over to eat from her lap—from the little table made by her spread knees and the sheet of paper covered with Greek characters and centered by a photograph of King Constantine.

They have been sailing for some time in a more open sea. Coming upstairs with a loaded tray, the waiter does a little dance on the deck to steady himself. There are omelets, plates of goat cheese and cucumbers, and unmarked bottles of retsina, and a thick tile of bread is laid beside each plate. There are even paper napkins, which presently blow overboard.

The boy, who has finished his last tomato, is the more genteel of the pair. He gathers together the eggshells and bread crumbs and puts them in the paper bag, which he sternly prevents her from throwing into the Gulf of Corinth. The waiter takes it away and they resume their positions, lightly holding hands. In a moment the girl is asleep, her shorn head tilted back, her pale gorge prominent in her sunburned neck.