It was the week of the Ryde Regatta.

At that time Ryde disputed with Cowes the glory of being the headquarters of yachting, and the scene was a gay one.

Every house in the neighbourhood was crowded with guests, many had been let for the week at fabulous rates, the town was bright with flags, and a great fleet of yachts was moored off the town, extending from the pier westward as far as the hulks.
The lawn of the Victoria Yacht Club was gay with ladies, a military band was playing, boats rowed backwards and forwards between the yachts and the clubhouses.
It was the first day of the Regatta, and the Queen's Cup was not to be sailed for until the third.

On the previous morning Frank had received a note from Lady Greendale, saying that they had arrived with Lord Haverley's party the day before, and enclosing an invitation from him to dinner that day.

He went up to call as soon as he received it, but excused himself from dining on the ground of a previous engagement, as he felt sure that Carthew would be one of the party.
"I suppose, Lady Greendale, it is no use asking you and Bertha to sail in the Osprey on Friday ?" "I should not think of going, Frank.