Unwilling that anyone should be witness to his disappointment, he turned his back on the steamer, took Ethel’s letter from his book, and pretended to read it, as if looking up some information. At this moment of his exasperation, his wife stepped out from behind the last car. Smiling faintly, she came up the cinder path. All his anger at once fell away as he realized what had happened; in her confusion, she had got off the wrong side of the train.

“I didn’t know,” she said as she came up. “They opened the doors at both sides and—how was I to know?”

He laughed. “Darling, I’m not blaming you. I’m only too glad you’re here at all!”

“Thanks.” As he kissed her, she stiffened slightly, her shoulders back. He knew she had never really liked being kissed in public but he paid no attention and kissed her again.

“If you knew what a bad moment I had, when everyone got off and no Ethel.”

“I’m glad,” she said.

But as they started toward the steamer, he sensed that something was wrong.

He refused to bother his head about it now; there were too many other things to attend to. He was only aware of irritation again because, as always, she had picked a fine moment to be difficult. Maybe he was imagining it. But now he heard her clear her throat. No, he wasn’t imagining anything. There was trouble ahead; and his heart sank as he realized it would be hours and hours before he would even know what the matter was.

He tried a joke. “It isn’t the book, is it?”

“What isn’t the book?”

“After all, I only brought one.”

It didn’t work. Ethel was looking straight ahead at the gangplank and seemed not to have heard. He felt as though he were walking alone.

“Or maybe it’s the new appointment.”

“What new appointment?”

“Really, Ethel.”

“Oh, the appointment. Congratulations!”

He checked their bags with a porter on the lower deck and then they went up the stairway. No band played; there was not even the accordion man he had expected to find, like the one on the Coney Island ferry. The boat was astir with people finding themselves places. Children ran everywhere; even dogs seemed to be on the loose, free and unattended. He found chairs for themselves against the wall of the closed salon on the promenade deck, rather than along the outer rail. Though it was hot here, he was sure it would be breezy enough when the boat sailed.

“How are the boys?”

“Fine. They sent their love to you.”

“Your father and mother?”

“All right.”