Lockwood, wrestling his lips into a weak smile, rubbing his cheek, where a welt shaped like one end of a parenthesis had risen: “Making up for lost time, I suppose. All those years at sea, when the boys were in port, me staying aboard or going to museums like a damned tourist, and for what? Not a damn thing, might as well have blown every dime and dollar. So reckon I was indulging. A sailor’s pleasures …”

“I believe I heard the word ‘damn’ twice, and it is still Sunday,” she said, tightly. “And as for last night … do you consider that a sailor’s pleasure?”

“No …” He paused, and the smile dissolved, and he looked at Mother in a way that made Nathaniel uneasy, though if someone had asked what there was in the look to arouse uneasiness, he could not have answered.

“If you expect to come under this roof again … If you act the way you—” Faltering, she seemed to come back to herself, and making a turn toward Drew, told him to bring his fish to Mrs. Carter right away.

“And you boys,” she said to Nathaniel and Eliot, “I am so sorry you had to witness such unpleasantness.…”

“And all on a Sunday afternoon, too,” Lockwood interjected, but she was in command of herself once more and paid no regard to the interruption.

“But it’s all over. Go find something to occupy yourselves. Lockwood and I will be having tea now. We have some things to discuss.”

Going into the house, Nathaniel and Eliot heard her say, “If ever you act like this again, I promise you …” The door shut behind them and they did not hear what promise she made but knew they were glad she wasn’t making it to them.