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seeing Ada’s expectant look, answered, “There are two eighteen-foot long anchors, each weighs sixteen tons. The anchor chains are each nine hundred and ninety feet long. Each link of an anchor chain weighs two hundred and twenty-four pounds.”
    â€œVery good, very good,” he acknowledged, although Sarah thought he did not seem to be truly pleased. “Your grandmother told me you had an excellent head for figures. Numbers have always been a specialty of mine. Making good use of them, not just dithering around with some theoretical nonsense. Of course, one can’t expect a young lady to have an appreciation of statistics; rare enough to find one who has any kind of brain for mathematics in the first place. No wonder your grandmother is so proud of—”
    Sarah fixed him with a narrow glare, but it was Robert who interrupted, saying, “Mrs. Milington is proud of her granddaughter for a great many reasons, of course. Her abilities with mathematics and statistics are just one source of that pride.”
    Hastings seemed to finally become aware Ada was looking at him in a way that seemed to indicate that subtraction—from the amount he was hoping to receive from her for his campaign—seemed the most likely piece of arithmetic to be going on in her mind.
    â€œOh, Sarah, I apologize,” he said quickly. “I behave just like a crotchety old man on some occasions. You are clearly an exceptional young lady! I am astounded at your knowledge of the ship.”
    â€œI haven’t seen much of it,” she confessed in some confusion, still amazed at Robert’s defense of her, and uncomfortable with all the praise Hastings had heaped upon her.
    â€œBut she’s read a great deal,” Robert said.
    â€œAsk her anything about it!” Ada said.
    Sarah noticed a particular gleam in his eye as he said, “All right. What type of fuel did the Queen Mary burn?”
    â€œBunker C oil,” she answered promptly. “The ship averaged thirteen feet to the gallon.”
    Ada gave a crow of laughter.
    â€œThirteen miles to the gallon?” Hastings asked.
    â€œNo, sir. Feet, not miles.”
    Hastings, skeptical a moment before, now became fascinated by Sarah’s love of data and would not be side-tracked from his game. He asked for statistic after statistic, and Sarah answered accurately every time.
    She could not help but feel a glow of pride, and her original appraisal of Hastings mellowed considerably. But just as she was saying that there were over six miles of carpet on the ship, she happened to glance at Robert Parsons. He was frowning at Hastings, and his fists were clenched on the table.
    I’m boring him, Sarah thought, all the pleasure suddenly going out of the game. Her voice trailed off, and she stared down at her hands, too humiliated to continue. Robert was obviously wishing that Hastings would stop encouraging her. She probably hadn’t amused anyone other than Hastings and her grandmother; Robert and Captain Dolman, she was sure, were wishing Ada had left her at home. She had been an obnoxious, unbridled know-it-all.
    She was about to apologize when she heard Robert say, “I have an extra pass for the next guided tour, Sarah. Would you care to go on it?”
    She had not thought she could be more deeply mortified, but she was wrong. So he wanted to send her off on a ship’s tour, as if she were a child not ready to share the company of adults. Well, and why not? She had just behaved as if she were the kid in the class who waves his hand and shouts, “Me! Me! Call on me!”
    â€œThank you,” she managed to say.
    â€œYes,” her grandmother agreed, “an excellent notion.”
    So even Ada was defecting, she thought, as Robert, ever the gentleman, stood and helped her from her chair. She was a little surprised when he continued at her side, but she said nothing. She crossed the bar and took the exit to her left, and