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! CHAPTER NINE Poor Isabelle languished in disgrace in her own room for the two days of her mother's house party, as a result of her Amazonian entrance to the dinner. Martin Christiansen pleaded her case, took the blame upon himself; the rest of the party laughed heartily over the episode and demanded more Isabelle, but Max remained adamant and refused to release the prisoner. Wally visited his daughter on Sunday, carrying a note from Christiansen. He expected to find her raging at her confinement, but, instead, she was curled up in a chair with a book on her lap, and he had to speak to her twice before she heard him. "Hello, Wally," she said, unenthusiastically. "Hello. How are you getting on?" "Fine." "Pity you have to be shut up this nice day." "I like it." He grinned derisively. "I do--honust." "What was your idea of coming into the drawing room on a horse, anyhow?" "I wanted to show Mr. Christiansen something. He understood it all right." "Made your mother hopping." "Oh, well, she's always hopping. Why didn't you ask Mr. Christiansen up?" "Against orders. No one admitted. He sent a note," he added, handing it over. Isabelle read: