DEAR CAPTIVE ISABELLE: Do you languish in your dungeon cell? Your true knight points an arrow with this missive, and shoots it in at your window. (I trust your father will not resent this poetic license.) I was thrilled at the sight of you as an Amazon, and I agree about the riding breeches! Yours eternally, CHRISTIANSEN-KNIGHT. "What's poetic license?" she asked Wally. "Poetic license? Why--it's some kind of license poets get, I suppose." "Like a dog license, or a chauffeur's?" "Well, something like that. Why?" "Oh, nothing." "What's the book?" "'Idylls of the King.'" "Good?" "Great. I'm going to give it in my theatre." "Playing all the parts yourself?" he teased. "All the important ones," she answered, seriously. "Shall I tell your mother that you are enjoying yourself?" "Yes." "I'll toddle along now, I guess." "Wait a minute. I have to answer him." "Hurry up about it then." Wally took up her abandoned book, while she went to her desk to compose. Dearest Knight: I languish a little, but not much. I'm writing a play out of "Idylls of the King." I wish you would be Launcelot, Tommy Page could be Merlin. I knew you would understand about the Amazon and horse. I'm glad you liked the . . . "How do you spell breeches, Wally?" "What?" "_Breeches._" "B-r-e-e-c-h-e-s. What are you saying about them?" he inquired, coming to look over her shoulder. "This is private," she said, and wrote: . . . breeches. Wally did not mind your license. He thought you ought to have it. The police are so crooel. Your loving friend, ISABELLE. She folded and addressed it carefully. "Here it is." "What do I get for running the blockade for you like this?" he inquired. "Much obliged, Wally," she answered, returning to her chair and her book. "You don't appreciate me!" he protested. "Yes, I do, Wally. I like you the best of all my parents." Upon her subsequent release, Isabelle turned her entire attention to a continuous presentation of the "Idylls." Every day the story progressed, and it would have occupied her abilities for some time, save for an accident. The company, including Tommy Page and Teddy Horton, had gathered at Margie Hunter's, where there was a swimming pool. Isabelle planned to stage a scene with herself as "Elaine, the fair, the beautiful," floating in the Hunters' canoe, laboriously carried up from the shore by the entire company.