“I was, just for a minute there. Not now. She’s a real old-fashioned girl, the kind I used to read about in the novels in Grampa Czar’s bookcase. She ought to have a rose in her teeth and a knife in her garter.”

He dumped the dresses on the bed. “Say!”

“She’s going to marry you, isn’t she?”

“Look, infant, you’re supposed to answer the questions, not ask them.”

“I’ve asked questions all my life. I was brought up that way.”

“Get into one of the tacky dresses and drive down to the dock with me, how about it?”

“I’m going down with Aunt Louise—she told me to call her Aunt Louise—and the others, whoever they are.”

“More fun with me.”

“Look, I’m here in Seattle to go to school, I’m just here as your guest for two weeks—and mighty nice of you as Grampa Czar says—but please don’t get me mixed up, would you please?”

“Do you always talk like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like a kind of verbal prize fighter. Do the Alaska boys like it?”

“They love it. Ask anybody.”

Now he was leaning against her doorway as he had in his mother’s room. Chris was hanging the despised garments neatly in her closet, jabbing the clothes hangers into the sleeves with more force than was necessary.

“Why don’t you stay on here at the house. Heaps of room. Mom and Dad would love it.”

“I’m dying to try living alone.”

“Sounds ideal as preparation for married life.”

“I’ve always lived with Grampa Thor or Grampa Czar. They’ve been wonderful to me. But living alone must be dreamy. Uh, thanks for lugging the dresses in here.”

He stood a moment longer in the doorway, he took a handful of keys from a pocket and jingled them in his palm and thrust them back. “We’ll be leaving about quarter of six. The boat’s going to be slimy and the Olympic dining room dressy, so that poses a nice question for you. Maybe one of your medium tacky numbers. Do you want that Coke?”

“I’d love it. I’ll go down.”

“I’ll send Kea up with it.” He turned away. “See you.” He closed the door behind him.

On the drive down to the docks she found herself seated beside him. This rather surprised her. She had meant to be with Mrs. Husack in the back seat. Now Dina was there. Dina had demurred, certainly, though sotto voce and Bay had said with what Chris considered very bad manners, “Stop wrestling and do as I say or we’ll be late. I hate being late.” How precise and fussy he sounds, for a young man, Chris thought.

There was silence in the car as they sped down the twisting hill road. She felt vaguely uncomfortable, but her desire for information always had been stronger than her caution.

“The Buccaneer—tell me a little about her, will you? I know she was a beautiful yacht—one of the biggest in the world. Grampa Czar says they’re going to gut her and use her for a fish carrier.”