Before luncheon the next day, Fessenden had begun to acquire some acquaintance with the members of the Sandywood house-party--a particular acquaintance with the celebrated Miss Yarnell. It did not take him long to perceive that Miss Yarnell and he had been provided for each other's amusement. Harry Cleborne's fatuous devotion to May Belle Cresap--Fessenden rather disliked the two-part Christian name--and the good-natured cliquishness of the four married people, threw upon him the duty of entertaining the unattached bachelor girl. He took up the burden with extraordinary cheerfulness. Pinckney Cresap watched his progress, frankly interested. Once, indeed, he took occasion to compliment him. "You Northerners _have_ some temperament, I see. If only Roland Cary were here, my boy!" "He would have even more, I suppose," laughed Fessenden. "Polly told me about him yesterday." "Eh? Oh, yes, so she was telling me. Oh, I'm not sure about the temperament--unfortunately, I haven't had a chance to judge." He chuckled. "But there's a charm there, that's certain." He chuckled again, as if vastly amused at the recollection of some humor of Roland Cary's. "An eligible _parti_," he went on. "The head of _the_ first family of Maryland. Father and mother both dead--brought up by a doting great-uncle." "Confound him! I'm quite jealous. Where is he? Doesn't he dare show himself?" "Off on some philanthropic scheme, I believe. Roland Cary has notions. But you needn't be jealous--you're doing very well with Madge Yarnell." Toward noon, as they were all debating whether or not a game of tennis was worth while, a trim-looking sloop rounded a wooded point of the bay shore, and ran down toward the boat-landing. "I think that's your yacht, Fessenden," said Cresap. "If Danton has been keeping her up at the Polocoke River Club, she'd be just about due here now." "Let's all go down and have a look at her." A hat or two had to be gotten, and by the time they reached the landing-stage the boat was already tied up. A sunburned man touched his cap to the party. "Mr. Charles Danton's _Will-o'-the-Wisp_," he said. "I was to deliver her at the Cary place, to Mr. Fessenden." "I'm Mr. Fessenden. She looks like a good boat." "There ain't any better of her class from Cape May to Hatteras," said the boatman. "It's a pity Mr. Danton's got the power-boat idea in his head." "Yes, he told me that was one of the reasons he's giving up the _Will-o'-the-Wisp_. He's bought a hundred-ton steam-yacht, I believe." "That's right, sir. Well, she's all right, and I'm to be master of her, so I guess I hadn't ought to complain, but, after all, a real sailer is better, _I_ think, sir." The boat was sloop-rigged, seaworthy rather than fast, and, for her length, very broad of beam and astonishingly roomy. Spars and deck were spick and span in new ash, and her sides glistened with white paint.