Isabelle's debut as dramatist and actress was much discussed and laughed
over in the colony. Her pranks had long been a favourite topic, but this
last one marked her as a real personality.
"Isabelle," Martin Christiansen said to her, a day or so after the
performance, "you gave me so much pleasure with your interpretation of
Mr. Dickens's work, that I want to do something for your pleasure."
"Do you?" said Isabelle, enthusiastically.
"Theatrical stars are so temperamental, I scarcely know what to suggest.
What does a leading lady and producer like to do in her moments of idle
ease?"
It was a great opportunity, and Isabelle considered it at length.
"I should like to go bathing on the club beach, and have lunch
afterwards on the club porch."
"Most reasonable of Leading Ladies, what day would suit you best?"
"To-morrow"--promptly.
"Good. Shall we say at eleven? I will give myself the honour of coming
for you."
"You ask Max to let me go, will you?"
"With pleasure. Shall we ask the other members of your company, too?
Does a star permit the company to eat below the salt?"
"Oh no, don't let's have them--just you and me."
"Most flattering. I would prefer that."
"You won't ask the Wallys?"
"You refer to your parents?"
She nodded.
"This is your party--you may ask the guests," he laughed.
So it was decided, and Christiansen broke the news to her mother.
"I think she should have a chaperon. You might ask me."
"She was very explicit that the party was to be a tete-a-tete."
"She'd never ask me," laughed her mother.
"Aren't you friendly?"--curiously.
"Oh, not at all."
The next morning Max honoured Miss Watts and Isabelle with an unexpected
call.
"What is she going to wear, Miss Watts?" she inquired.
"I'm going to wear my riding clothes," announced Isabelle.
"How ridiculous! You're going in a motor, not on a horse."
"I don't care. I look better in my riding clothes."
"You'll put on a white organdie frock and a big hat."
"I won't! I hate those girl-things! They look silly on me."
"All children of your age wear white dresses and pink sashes, Isabelle,"
interpolated Miss Watts.
"Well, I'm not a pink-sash child!" quoth Isabelle, with one of her flashes
of insight.
"Oh, well, Miss Watts, let her go in her riding boots. If she wants to
make a laughing-stock of herself, let her! Poor Mr. Christiansen will be
sorry he ever asked her!" said Mrs. Bryce.
"Very well. I'll wear a white linen dress, with a black belt, and my
black hat," announced the girl.
"Chaste, but not gaudy," laughed her mother, as she sauntered from the
room.
When she was finally dressed Isabelle walked to a long mirror and
surveyed herself at length. Her slim, pretty legs in their black silk
stockings caught her eye.
"Don't you think I have nice legs?" she inquired of Miss Watts.
"Um--rather. They are serviceable at least."
* * * * *
The party was a marked success. A great many people were bathing, which
always made it exciting. They went out to the raft and Christiansen and
some other men took turns in throwing her off. It was perfect for
Isabelle. Then, afterward, all the tables were full on the club veranda,
when Mr. Christiansen led his guest to a two-chair table, marked
"RESERVED." Everybody smiled and nodded at them. She saw Wally and Max
cross the room grinning at her. But she bore herself with great dignity,
and it seemed to her that life held nothing more, when Christiansen
seated her. There was a tiny, old-fashioned bouquet at her plate.
"Is this for me?" she inquired.
"Yes. My offering on the day of your triumph was so inadequate, I wanted
to do better to-day. By the way, I ordered the lunch. I trust you do not
mind."
"Oh, no. That's all right," she replied graciously.
"It seems to me you are looking very fine to-day."
She looked at him gravely.
"I had an awful time about my clothes," she confessed. "Max wanted me to
wear a party dress and a sweety hat----"
"What is a sweety hat?" he inquired with interest.
"Oh, you know the kind--floppy, with cherries on it, and everybody says:
'Oh, isn't she sweet?'"
Her host smiled.
"You object to being thought sweet?"
"Yes. I'm not that kind of a child."
"What kind of a child are you, Isabelle?"
"I'm plain, but I've got a great line of talk," was her unexpected
answer.
"A witty tongue is worth all the pretty faces in the world," laughed
Christiansen. "But I wouldn't call you so plain."
"I look very well in my riding clothes."
"Do you?"
"Have you seen me in them?"
"No, I regret to say."
"Well, you must."
"Thank you. I take it that you did not accept your mother's advice upon
your costume?"
"Oh, no. I never do. Parents have such silly ideas, don't you think?"
"I suppose they do, poor things."
"You have to have them, of course"--politely.
"In this badly arranged world," he admitted.
"So many people are having babies this summer," she remarked.
"Are they, indeed?"
"Oh, yes. The Hunters and the Reillys, both have them."
"Do I know the Reillys?"
"He is the gardener at The Beeches. Patsy is my best friend."
"Is he a member of your company?"
"Oh, yes. He was away when we did 'The Tale of Two Cities.' He speaks
rather Irishly, but he's a good actor."
"Your leading man seemed to have a comedy talent."
"Tommy Page? He's a terrible fool, but we had to have him. There never
are enough boys to go round for the parts."
"So often happens in summer resorts," he agreed. "Why not have a company
of Amazons and disdain the weaker sex?"
"You mean all girls?"
"The Amazons were, you know."
"They fuss so, and get mad. They always want to play the best parts.
With boys, you can just _settle_ them."
"You nearly settled poor Tommy Page on the guillotine," he laughed.
"He nearly spoiled everything, the poor coward. He couldn't stand a
little pain."
"Peculiar to our sex, Isabelle; not Tommy's fault, strictly speaking."
"He'll never get another good part," she said firmly.
They were just finishing their ice cream, chatting amiably, when Wally
came to their table.
"Hello," he remarked.
Isabelle bowed.
"Hope I don't interrupt?" he added.
"Not at all. Won't you sit down?"
"No, thanks. Just ran over to say that we'll take the kid off your hands
after lunch."
"Oh, don't bother----"
"Certainly we will. The car is going back in ten minutes with Max, and
she can go along."
Isabelle could have cried with rage. As it was she swallowed hard, and
when Christiansen said: "Is that agreeable to you, Isabelle?" she nodded
assent, but the look she cast at Wally might have assassinated him. He,
blissfully unaware of it, sauntered away.
"Don't hurry. Wouldn't you like some more ice cream?" her host
suggested.
"Yes, thank you."
She did not really want it, but it might serve to delay the hated
departure. The car might go without her, and Christiansen would then
take her home. She dawdled over the second ice cream, chatting
feverishly to prevent his suspecting her plan. But the end came, as the
end needs must, and on the veranda they found her mother waiting.
"If she has been eating all this time, you must be bankrupt," she
laughed as they joined her.
"Our conversation absorbed considerable time, didn't it, Isabelle?"
"Yes"--gravely.
"Did you behave yourself?" inquired her mother.
"Perfectly," Christiansen hastened to say.
"Well, make your manners and get into the car," ordered her parent.
Christiansen leaned over her hand gallantly.
"Thank you for giving me so much pleasure," he said in a confidential
tone.
"Thank you. I loved it," she whispered ardently.
On the way home her mother glanced at her.
"Have a good time?"
"You and Wally spoiled it!"--hotly.
"What did we do?"
"Treating me like a infunt!"
"Which you are," retorted her mother.
Later, in talking it over with Miss Watts, Isabelle said:
"Mr. Christiansen is my ideal. He thinks he would not call me very
plain," she added. Then, "Miss Watts, what is an Amazon?"
"The Amazon is a river."
"But he said a comp'ny of Amazons."
"Oh, they were women warriors," instructed the teacher, and expounded
the subject at some length.
"What did they wear?" demanded Isabelle.
"We'll look up some pictures of them and find out."
"Riding clothes would do," mused Isabelle.
"Nicely, I should say."
The next day she organized the Isabelle Amazons. They were only four in
number, counting Nancy Holt, who was under size, but they drilled and
hunted and rode to battle in the wake of their peerless leader. They met
imaginary foes. They challenged Tommy Page and Teddy Horton to mortal
combat, and put them to flight. It was a wonderful game, and Isabelle
thrilled to think that it was "her ideal" who had suggested it.
"When am I going to entertain Mr. Christiansen?" she asked her mother.
"_You_ entertain him?"
"Certainly. He had me to lunch, didn't he?"
Mrs. Bryce laughed.
"I'm having a house party over the week end and he is coming."
"This week end?"
"Yes. Your beau arrives on the noon train Saturday."
"But I am spending the day with the Hunters Saturday," the child
protested.
"I can't help that," replied her parent.
"May I come down to dinner Saturday night?"
"Certainly not."
"Can't I come in with the cocktails, and stay till you go to the dining
room?"
"Nobody wants you under foot."
"He's my friend just as much as he is yours!" blazed Isabelle.
"You can see him at tea."
"With everybody around? I have something private to tell him."
"What, pray?"
"About Amazons."
"Well, we'll not have Amazons with the cocktails, I can tell you that,"
said her mother with finality.
Isabelle brooded over the matter until the end of the week. She tried to
get out of the day with Margie Hunter, but Mrs. Bryce was glad to be rid
of her and forced her to go. She ordered Miss Watts not to go after her
until half past five, when tea would be safely over.
Isabelle composed a note of explanation and left it on the bureau in the
room which Christiansen was to occupy.
DEAR FRIEND:
Because of others, and Margie Hunter's mother I cannot meet you
at the station. I have to spend the day with old Margie Hunter.
I have organized the Amazons, as you said, and we are strong and
true, in riding breeches. I have a plan, but don't tell Max.
Your loving friend,
ISABELLE BRYCE.
She forgot her troubles somewhat at the Hunters'. All the Amazons were
there, as well as Margie's brother, Herbert, an elderly person of
twelve, with some of his friends. They treated the girls with great
scorn until Isabelle told them the story of the persecutions she endured
at home, in order to be an Amazon. It featured imprisonment in a tower
room, on a diet of bread and water, branding irons and flogging with a
buckled strap. They formed a delighted circle about her, and urged her
on.
"Some little liar, that kid!" exclaimed Herbert. "_Then_ what did you
do?"
The big boys followed her about all day, to the exclusion of the other
Amazons, who took refuge in chanting derogatory remarks, such as:
"Herbie Hunter is stuck on Isabelle!"
When 5:30 arrived and with it, Miss Watts, Isabelle departed with a
feeling of a day well spent. She turned her thoughts to the next event.
They had a puncture on the way, and the terrace and halls were deserted
when they arrived home. Miss Watts hurried her off to the schoolroom,
for supper, and urged her to take her bath and go to bed after her
strenuous day. The child was docility itself.
While she was at supper a note was brought to her. It was from
Christiansen. She read:
MY DEAR ISABELLE:
You cannot imagine what a pleasant welcome your note gave me. I
am thrilled to know that I am under the roof with a real Amazon,
and I live in the expectation of seeing you "strong and true in
riding breeches."
Your devoted admirer,
MARTIN CHRISTIANSEN.
An idea was born at that moment! When Miss Watts went to carry the
supper tray downstairs, because the maids were busy, Isabelle hastily
donned her riding clothes, turned on the bath water to mislead Miss
Watts on her return, crept down the stairs and out. From the terrace she
peered into the long drawing room. The French doors leading on to the
terrace were open wide, and in the softly lighted room she saw the
house-party guests assembling. They straggled in, one by one. Isabelle's
eyes brightened at Christiansen's big boom of laughter, and she admired
his broad shoulders, as he leaned on the mantelpiece at the far end.
She flew to the stables, crept in at the back, led out the Peruvian
horse, saddled, mounted him, and kicked him gently in the flanks. Up and
onto the terrace she guided him, just as indoors, Matthews arrived with
the cocktails.
In through the open windows rode Isabelle, and slowly down the long
drawing room. Everybody gasped.
"Isabelle Bryce!" cried her mother.
"Martin," she said eagerly, "this is how I look as an Amazon!"
It was part of the cruel fate that dogged her, that at this supreme
moment the Peruvian horse slipped on a rug on which Matthews happened to
be standing, whereupon they all went down together, pouring a generous
libation of cocktails at Christiansen's feet!