'The Baby' was the youngest of the sisters--a pretty child of fifteen; a trifle spoiled and bad-tempered, otherwise characterless enough. So now we may pass on to the personage who considered himself of chief consequence in the house--Mr. Thomas Beresford, the only son, who now stood at the window, thrumming on the panes, to the infinite annoyance of his mother. He was an exceedingly handsome boy of about eighteen, slightly built, tall, and dressed with an elaborate precision. The lad was clever enough, and good-natured enough, but he had been spoiled all his life long--first by his sisters, and then by the men who wanted to marry his sisters. He harried and worried the whole household indiscriminately, but he was especially hard upon Nan. He said Nan had a character that he wished to form. Girls wanted roughing. There was far too much flimsiness and fashionability about their social circle. In time he trusted to be able to make something out of Nan. Well, he was thrumming contemplatively on the window-panes, watching this big dark ship come along from the west. 'Thomas, I wish you would cease that distressing noise,' said his mother, with a plaintive sigh. He ceased his thrumming and took to whistling. 'Tom,' said the musical sister, 'I do wish you wouldn't try to pick up new airs. You can't do it. Why don't you keep to "Home, Sweet Home," or "In a Cottage near a Wood"----' But, to give effect to this remonstrance, she had turned in her chair in which she was reading, and, in so doing, came in sight of the window, and the sea, and the new arrival there. 'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'what a beautiful large yacht!' The youth at the window shrugged his shoulders. 'Well, you _are_ a fool,' he said politely. 'Thank you,' she replied. 'I'll tell you what--it's a man-o'-war brig,' continued he, with an air of importance. 'And what's more, I hope the fellow knows where he's coming to. I don't see them taking any soundings; and the notion of bringing a man-o'-war in here----' He went and got an opera-glass, and returned to the window. He would make observations; perhaps, if need were, he might put off in a small boat and offer to assist in the navigation of the ship. 'Young women,' he exclaimed, suddenly, 'a light strikes me. That's the _Fly-by-night_.' 'You pretend you can make out the ship's name at that distance,' said the eldest sister, with the slightest of smiles. 'Not with the glass, but by the intuition of genius,' he retorted, coolly. 'What's more, I can tell you the name of her commanding officer, Miss Nails. Which his initials are Francis Holford King.' 'King!' said his mother with but little interest. 'Oh yes; I remember.'