Grandin looked at the shoulders and the broad chest: and the fact that the seams of the shirt were strained almost to bursting seemed to have little to do with fat. His whole body looked solid muscle as he strained forward on his chair. He seemed to be unable to give enough of himself to them or to Billie, as if he lived under a kind of apprehension lest they should feel he wasn’t attentive enough or appreciative of their company.

He puzzled about this attitude. It did not necessarily spring from inferiority, he decided. On the contrary, he could see that Hauman had a strong sense of the fitness of things and of himself. It was discipline, perhaps, which had produced the habit of respect for seniors, the immaculate neatness of dress, the soldierly attention, the courtesy, the desire to please and fit in. Training of this kind could well erase all differences of background. He took pride in discipline; it was the ideal of the day, better than breeding or brains. Grandin also wondered whether discipline was responsible for the innocent language with which Hauman expressed himself, or whether his choice of words sprang from a mind so clean it could almost seem inane. There was no telling; his very naturalness gave no clue to his nature. One could only be sure of two things: he loved his father; and though very possibly he did not truly love his wife (since he would never really know or understand her), it was touching to see that one of the genuine delights of his life was that she was called Billie. . . .

“I guess we’ll be getting there soon now,” the Captain said. “Have you enjoyed the trip, sir?”

“Very much. Are we there?”

“The island looks about five miles off. We’re just passing some lighthouse.”

“Oh dear,” Billie said, “hadn’t we better go downstairs and get our things?”

“Plenty of time, honey. But still, if the Grandins will excuse us—?”

Anxious to put a better face on his share of the afternoon, Grandin said, “I’m told there’s a very fine beach at Sconset. If you should care to try it, I hope you’ll feel free to use our room to dress in.” He had spoken out of politeness, merely, a politeness which had been generally contagious that afternoon.

And out of no more than this same politeness, Hauman replied as they moved away, “Thank you, sir, we sure will, it’s very kind of you I’m sure. . . .”

Automatically the Grandins turned to watch them go. At the top of the stairway to the lower deck, Captain Hauman looked back for a moment; he sought their glance; and over the heads of many passengers still seated about the promenade deck sent them a smile of farewell, a smile of pure radiance, youth, and health, which left Grandin gazing at the spot for a full moment after the Haumans had gone below.