She laughed in embarrassment. “It’s true,” she said. “I think I was hoping that a jest would come to mind, and it didn’t.”

Alvin smiled at her. “Or else the jest that did come to mind was of a sort that you couldn’t imagine yourself making, and so it went away.”

She didn’t like the way he looked at her as if he thought he knew all about her. Never mind that she must be looking at him the same way—she did know about him. He was so full of confidence it made her want to throw mud on him just to show him he wasn’t carried along by angels. It was as if he feared nothing and imagined himself capable of achieving anything. And it wasn’t an illusion he was trying to create, either. He really was conceited; his attitude reeked of it. His only fear was that, when push came to shove, he might turn out to be even better than he thought himself to be.

“I don’t know what I done to rub you the wrong way, ma’am,” said Smith, “other than bathing nekkid, but that’s how my mama taught me it ought to be done, so my clothes don’t shrink.”

The others laughed. Purity didn’t.

“Want something to eat?” Arthur Stuart asked her.

“I don’t know, what do you have?” she said.

His eyes were still focused on her, slightly widened, his jaw just a bit slack. Oh, it was love all right, the swooning moon-in-juning kind.

“Berries,” said the boy. He held out his hat, which had several dozen blackberries down in it. She reached in, took one, tasted it.

“Oh no,” said Cooper mildly. “You’ve eaten a berry, so you must spend one month of every year in Hades.”

“But these berries are from New England, not hell,” she said.

“That’s a relief,” said Smith. “I wasn’t sure where the border was.”

Purity didn’t know how to take this Smith fellow. She didn’t like looking at him. His boldness bothered her. He didn’t even seem ashamed that she had seen him naked.

Instead she looked at Cooper. The barrister was a pleasant sight indeed. His manner, his dress, his voice, all belonged to a man that Purity thought existed only in a dream. Why was he different from other men who dressed in such a way?

“You aren’t an ordinary lawyer,” she said to him.

Cooper looked at her in surprise. And then his surprise turned to dread.

“I’m not,” he said.

What was he afraid of?

“Yes he is,” said Smith.

“No,” said Cooper. “Ordinary lawyers make a lot of money. I haven’t made a shilling in the past year.”

“Is that it?” asked Purity. It could be. Barristers did seem a prosperous lot. But no, it was something else. “I think what makes you different is you don’t think you’re better than these others.”

Cooper looked around at his companions—the smith, the riverman, the French artist, the Black boy—and grinned. “You’re mistaken,” he said. “I’m definitely the better man.”