“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.”