“Yes, all alone,” she said. “Although I do have friends who stop by this island once in a while. In a very long while, I should say. They are seasonal.”

“Seasonal?” said Seabold.

“They migrate,” said Pandora. “So I see them only in spring and fall, as they make their way north or south. There is Atoll, the gray whale . . .”

“You know a whale personally?” asked Seabold.

“Oh yes,” said Pandora. “Whales are very sociable once you break the ice. Ask them about their children and they’ll go on forever.”

“There is also Henry, the tern,” she continued. “He’s usually so pressed for time, he doesn’t even land. He simply flutters above my head and asks after my health, my garden, and so forth. Then he’s off. He flies six thousand miles every year.”

“Really?” said Seabold.

“Yes,” said Pandora. “He’s quite fit.”

“But you are alone nearly always?” asked Seabold.

“Nearly always,” said Pandora.

Seabold shook his head. “I never thought I would meet someone else like me,” he said.

“Like you?” asked Pandora.

“One who loves the solitary life,” said Seabold. “I am nearly always at sea, nearly always alone. Like you.”

Pandora smiled and thought a moment. “I am not sure I love the solitary life,” she said finally. “I simply live it.”

“And why?” asked Seabold.

“To save lives,” said Pandora. “Like yours.”

And she poured him another cup of tea.