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 righ