“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.”