My mother exchanged a glance with my father. I turned away to watch the festivities breaking up. The party guests gathering in their last groupings seemed to form brilliant constellations in a new sky, and I longed to throw open my arms and grasp the bright moment to me. A young man draped a light woolen shawl around his mother, and a girl watched him surreptitiously, all the while fanning herself with her dance card. Beside me, Mr. Strong burst into song as he bid farewell to a collegiate man, and, half-jesting, the younger man placed a gloved hand upon his heart and raised his eyes heavenward. Yet he added his higher, sturdier voice to that of his host’s and soon the men divided into parts and the song’s light melody stole above the steady, gruff bass.

Teasin’ teasin’,
I was only teasin’ you.
Teasin’, teasin’,
Just to see what you would do,
Of course you knew that I was
Teasin’ teasin’,
To find out if your love was true.
Don’t be angry,
I was only, only
Teasin’ you.

And as the men slowed and held the last beautiful note, both their faces now turned to the ceiling, drawing forth the song from their open throats, I felt a rush to tears. For here we all were—all of us. And the song. Mr. Strong clapped his partner on the back and now in the rush of huzzahs and farewells, the song stopped, the party broke off and away, and the sound of boots sounded on the wooden floorboards of the Strongs’ verandah. I caught sight of Jonathan Lanman advancing upon us and swept him into this opening.

“Ah, Mr. Lanman. Will you ride back with us?” Papa called.

“Thank you, sir, but I shall walk round. I wished only to say my good-byes.”

“Your mother told me you were leaving early in the morning. Good of you to bid us adieu.” Papa’s tone was jovial.

“Yes, that’s right, sir. Mother and Dave retired long ago.”

There was a tiny pause. “Good journey, then,” said Papa. “I’ll see you in the office on my return.”

My mother leaned forward. “I do hope our paths will cross this autumn, in the city.”

Mr. Lanman bowed quickly to her. “I expect so, madame.”

He cast one brief glance at me and I curtsied. Again he bowed, and then, without another word, he was gone.

Papa’s arm drew around Mama’s waist, and we departed the party ourselves, passing out onto the verandah and down the narrow path to where the last boat for Grange House awaited. We were the dinghy’s only passengers, the other guests having left the Strongs’ long ago. Guiding by the bowsprit lantern and by the near moon, Mr. Coates said nothing as he rowed us along the shoreline toward the answering light hung at the Grange House pier.