The boy from the desk came along the veranda. “There’s a car here from the Coast Guard, sir, for Captain Hauman and party.”

“My, aren’t we grand,” Billie said, getting up. “Will you call Mr. and Mrs. Howard, Joe? They’re in the dining room.”

Suddenly Hauman said: “You go along, Billie, and I’ll follow in a few minutes. Something I want to do first—just an idea.”

“But how will you get to Nantucket?” she asked querulously.

“Ever hear of a serviceman not being able to pick up a ride? I’ll be there soon, but I know you’re anxious to see Toni Lansing.”

“Clifford Hauman, what are you up to? I want to know!” But he had already gone in. Pleased, she turned to the Grandins. “Now isn’t that sweet. I’ll bet he’s going to get dressed up after all.”

The Howards came out and the five of them got into the dark sedan that waited at the steps, with a young man in Coast Guard blues at the wheel. He was very polite and reserved, and greeted them with succinct military formality. Grandin sat in front with him while the others arranged themselves in the back seat. As the car pulled away, they heard the harpist begin her evening recital.

Leaving Sconset behind, the car was soon rolling over the moors toward Nantucket. The night wind was cold and damp with fog.

“I guess we’re going to have a real blackout,” Grandin said.

“I believe so, sir,” the driver replied. “But the fog might lift if the wind changes.”

In the back seat he heard Billie and Mrs. Howard talking.

“Is your name really Sarah?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you let him call you Sadie?” Billie asked, almost petulantly.

“Because I love it. I insist on Sadie.”

“Why not Sally? That’s so much nicer.”

“Sally, my god. Makes me sick. Sadie is much more sophisticated. All those names are coming back, didn’t you know? Libby and Annie and Maggie and— They’re fashionable again.”

“I think they’re horrid!”

“Why are you called Billie?”

“Well you see, my mother’s mother was named Bertha—”

“Oh, my god.”

“Well, I can’t help it.”

“You can and did,” Sarah Howard said with a laugh. “I guess I can’t blame you much for Billie. But Bert would have been much more chic. . . .”

As they reached the outer streets of Nantucket, there were signs that it was to be a gala evening for the island. Many people moved in the direction of the steamer pier; when the car turned the corner by the Whaling Museum and drove on toward the White Elephant, it became apparent that the destination of the crowd, old and young alike, was the Yacht Club. The clubhouse was lighted up festively without regard for the dimout, which apparently had been lifted for that evening.