The Cricket Part 18

"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 s.e.x?"

"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 s.e.x, 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.

"h.e.l.lo," he remarked.