The episode was over, but Edmund returned to say Maude was taking Dee home. They could hear nothing but music from the party, voices, waves. Croquet on the lawn, a bonfire in a bronze bowl on the terrace. The lights that were strung in the trees on the perimeter of the lawn were turned on, making the rest of the grounds, the beach and maze, seem darker than they were. They ran up to the lawn for cake and played croquet and they were watching Jane dance—Jane was drinking too much wine—when Polly found her way between chairs blocked by Dewitt, who said, “Hello, little girl. Little Schuster girl.”

Polly said nothing. The man was drunk. Everyone was, but he grabbed her arm with one hand and her face with the other. He tilted it, bending close and studying her.

“Let go of her,” said Edmund.

The hand hurt her face. The man blinked his strange eyes and looked amused, but now Papa was walking toward them.

“Mr. Dewitt,” he said. “Let’s have another talk.”

Dewitt let Polly go, and Edmund pulled her into the maze. At the far end, at the corner, they heard: “It will clear our heads,” said Papa. “Unless yours is too muzzy.”

“My head is clear,” said Dewitt. “But I’m happy to row you, old man.”

The men pushed the boat out, even though it was almost dark, while Lemon barked from the beach. People were still dancing, and Edmund and Polly could see Rita’s hair flash in the light of the bonfire. Lemon, guard dog, finally stopped running and lay down at the entrance to the maze. Polly and Edmund tried cards, playing with Dee’s fancy deck and a flashlight. All the faces were wild-eyed in the beam: They held up opposing jacks, growled, and giggled. Eventually they gave up on the dying flashlight and realized they could still see everything but color. They looked ghostly to each other and they curled up together in the blanket next to Lemon, trying to forget Jane’s scary stories.

They were down to arguing about stars, tired and beginning to be cold, when they heard splashing. The sound terrified Polly, but Edmund jumped up and pushed through the hedge and they watched Papa drag himself out of the waves and stand dripping, shiny against the dark water in the half-moon light.

Old god, almost-dead god. He walked toward them. “I’m so cold. Give me that blanket, sweethearts.”

“Where is that man?” asked Polly.

“Who?” asked Papa. He seemed surprised; maybe he was as drunk as everyone else.

“The man you don’t like,” said Polly. “Mr. Dewitt.”

Papa snorted and followed Edmund and Polly through the hedge. He wrapped himself up and looked around their squalid camp.

“Did he throw you out of the boat?” asked Polly.