"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." * * * * *