"Besides, Polly," said Cresap, "no girl eats her heart out nowadays. That sort of thing dates back to hoop-skirts and all that. Madge Yarnell can take care of herself, I'll wager." The next day was Sunday, and for Fessenden the morning dragged rather wearily. But after luncheon he had the inspiration to suggest a sail in the _Will-o'-the-Wisp_. May Belle and Cleborne announced that they had already arranged to go for a walk together, but the others avowed their willingness to sail. The wind was fresh, and Mrs. Dick Randall sat beside Fessenden at the wheel, and met the flying spray merrily. Dick himself flirted with Polly Cresap under the protection of the jibsail forward. Cresap drowsed accommodatingly at full length in the lee gangway. "Harry Cleborne and May Belle think two are company," said Mrs. Dick. "Are they engaged?" "Oh, I imagine there's only an understanding." "Do you think that sort of arrangement is dignified?" "What a funny way to put it! No, I don't think so, now that you put it that way. Madge Yarnell, now--Charlie Danton and she had only an understanding--everybody took it for granted they'd be married some day--and look how it's turned out." "But I understood their falling-out was due to outside influence--wasn't it?" "Partly, of course. But a regular engagement would have had more dignity about it, just as you say, and they would have had to be more careful." "No doubt." "Now, there's Roland Cary--" went on Mrs. Dick. "The handsome cousin Polly spoke of the other day?" "Yes. There's a dignified person for you. Hum-m! Dignified in some ways, but a perfect dee-vil in others." "He must be a very interesting sort. I'd like to meet him." "Oh, he--he _is_ interesting. But I'm worried about Madge and Charlie Danton's case." "I agree with Cresap--Miss Yarnell will follow her own course, whatever that may be." "I suppose so." The bracing air and the dancing yacht, if not the conversation, held Fessenden's interest for an hour or two. As he headed toward home, the glory of the day put a happy idea into his head. He would return Betty's picnic of yesterday by a day's sail on the _Wisp_. Somehow he would manage to elude his Sandywood responsibilities again. Darkness always fell long before dinner was served at Sandywood. Therefore, Fessenden, going for a stroll in the wilderness of a garden, ostensibly to indulge in an ante-prandial cigar, found in the dusk no difficulty in extending his walk to White Cottage. A boyish sense of romance always took possession of him when he approached Betty's vicinity. A knock at the cottage door, and a direct inquiry for her, would have been too commonplace. No workaday method of communication would suffice under a sky shot with stars and in an air a-tingle with spring. Lights shone in a couple of rooms in the upper part of the house, while the lower story was in darkness. Apparently, the farmer's family was already preparing to retire for the night.