“Free?” It was as though there were no word he could have used that would have stung her more. “I shall tell you,” she said, “how I am free. I am an unmarried woman no longer in her first youth. I am what some people call a spinster. I have in savings something less than seven pounds. I live under the protection of my brother, which is to say—though I love him as a sister should—that I live with no effective protection whatsoever. As for the community, for all I know they will never arrive. We have not heard from them in weeks. I have not the slightest idea how we shall survive another winter here. And if that was not enough I am, day by day, losing what remains of my sight and so must, in a short time, lose whatever small independence I still enjoy. So, you will tell me please where, in all of this, you find me to be free. Is it because I take off my stockings to paddle in the sea? That I have let you see me do it? Is that my freedom?”

She held his gaze then looked away. She was shaken by her own anger. He thought she might weep but if there were tears the green glass hid them from him. He felt as he had when he and Ranald watched the emigration ship. Side-struck. Implicated. He poked a finger into the sand, drew a shape there, then smoothed it away.

“I was thoughtless,” he said.

She shook her head.

“I have offended you, Emily.”

“No,” she said. “Though I might have offended you.”

“Mr. Rizzo,” he said. “I feel certain he will be able to help. Did you not say he was eminent?”

“I know almost nothing about him,” she said, though her tone now was matter-of-fact. She smiled a sad smile. “Let us not spoil the day, John. All these things. They are an old story and one I am tired of. Now, if you will give me your back I will put on my stockings. I can assure you I am very particular when it comes to questions of modesty. Thorpe calls me an old vestal. A prude.”

He gave her his back, looked down the glittering white length of the beach. “It may be,” he said, “I will not like this Thorpe after all.”

They did not walk back to the excavation but went directly to the house. There was no sign of the others. They went to the kitchen. A half-dozen wine bottles filled from the spring were standing on the floor in the shade under the window. They drank a bottle between them, dabbed their lips.

“I will do some work in the garden,” she said.

“Why not rest?” he said. “Sit somewhere cool for a while.”

“Like an invalid? No. I will do things while I can. And you can help me later. I will need to water the vegetables.”