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:

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.