Chapter 26
If anyone had caught sight of Mrs. Bradley hurrying toward the dock, clutching an unpinned hat in one hand and fistful of skirts in the other as she navigated the slope, muttering to herself all the while, he or she would not believe her a sober, composed matron of the newly married ranks, but rather a harum-scarum hoyden—one of those college girls, perhaps, who wore bloomers, played lawn tennis, and stayed up past their bedtimes reciting Latin poetry to their fellows.
Fortunately, no one was on hand to witness the spectacle, including anyone on the dock. In fact, the boat was gone as well. She stopped to catch her breath. Where were they? She adjusted her spectacles for a better look. Ah. She could make out the mast of the Susan D, with its green-and-yellow-striped tell-tales
