And the launch swung away, the two captured males in the stern and the eight females, four on the starboard seat, four on the port, sitting with knee mortared to knee, shoulder to shoulder—two solid fronts of sisterhood. In a few seconds, they were alongside Black Watch, Nathaniel watching with helpless jealousy as Van Slyck, the squat powerhouse, reached down, grasped Constance’s hands, and seemed to lift her as if she were as light as her cotton skirt. One by one, he helped the others board. Soon, it looked like a seagoing cotillion over there, the female phalanx broken, Will and his friends moving about with the confidence of college men, showing the girls where to sit, spreading cushions for them to sit on, and Nathaniel’s jealousy flamed when he saw Constance wedged between Van Slyck and Tony Burton. She took off her hat and fluffed her chestnut hair, and her laugh came ringing over the moat dividing him from her.

“You should strive to make your feelings less obvious,” said Mrs. Williams from behind him. “You are gawking, Nathaniel, positively gawking.”

He turned to look at her. She had seated herself on the after deck, her furled parasol across her knees.

“I was thinking that it’s mighty crowded over there. We could’ve taken three or four.”

“You were thinking that she will have her head turned by those Yale and Dartmouth boys. I assure you, that won’t happen. Constance’s head is not a doorknob.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I have seen to that. She is going to college next year and get a real education, and not the useless fluff dished out by finishing schools. She will do that before she does anything else, and if I ever see her head getting turned by anyone”—she stressed the last word—“I shall grab her by her pretty ears and turn it back the other way.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She’s over there with the others because I intend to have a word with you and your brothers in private. Where are they, anyhow?”

“Below. Getting dressed, I reckon.”

“It’s nearly ten. You run a leisurely ship, Nathaniel. Tell them to get on with it so we can heave-ho, or whatever it is you nautical people say, and be on our way.”

“There’s no wind yet, Mrs. Williams.”

“I am expected in Camden at twelve-thirty.”

“Yes, ma’am, but we’ll need wind to get there.”

Just then, there came from Black Watch sounds of the new century: a loud pop, and another, then a cough followed by a sputtering. An exhaust pipe near the bottom of her transom ejected puffs of blue-gray smoke, a noxious smell drifted into Nathaniel’s nostrils.

“So I take it that this boat does not have one of those?”