The truth was that although he was pretty familiar with the girls he met with the sailors around the town, he’d always been rather shy with the girls from families like his own. They all knew that at school he’d been a fool. His manners were unpolished. Even with his fortune, he wasn’t considered much of a catch; and the knowledge that this was the case made him avoid the fashionable girls even more.

But this girl from Boston was different. He’d seen that at once. She was nice-looking, but she was unaffected, and simple. And kind. He’d watched her efforts to draw him out of his shyness, and been grateful. Even if he hadn’t read the books she had, the way she spoke with her father, and her affection toward the lawyer, impressed him. She was everything, he supposed, that one day he’d like in a wife. While they talked, he’d even found himself thinking, was it possible that he could hope to marry someone like this? She was his second cousin. There was that between them. The thought of it was strangely exciting. Could it be that, despite his roughness, she might like him? Though Kate did not realize it, he was observing her closely. Each time the conversation exposed his ignorance, he told himself he was a fool even to think of her. Each time she was kind to him, he felt a new hope rising.

Until she had laughed at him. He knew she hadn’t meant to—which made it even worse. “Harry who?” he’d asked, and despite herself, she had burst out laughing. He couldn’t blame her. He had made an utter fool of himself. In her eyes, he could never be anything but an oaf. And she was right. That’s all he was. It was useless.

Now she and her father were coming to the house to sup with them again, and his father had told him not to be late.

At the corner of the street ahead, there was a tavern. He went in.

The mood at supper was festive. The whole city was rejoicing. Zenger the printer was free. Hamilton was the toast of the town. That very evening began the saying that would be repeated for generations to come: “If you’re in a tight spot, get a Philadelphia lawyer.”

Dirk Master had produced his best wine; and Eliot, in a mellow mood, was glad to drink it. Though the evening supper was normally a much lighter meal than the formal afternoon dinner, the sideboard and table were soon piled with oysters, baked clams, cooked hams, cold cuts, sweetmeats, and more besides. Mrs. Master seemed less reserved than before. Though hardly a lover of literature, she discovered that Kate, like her, was an avid reader of popular women’s novellas, so they found plenty to talk about.

There was only one puzzle. Where was young John Master?