“What, pray?”
“About Amazons.”
“Well, we’ll not have Amazons with the cocktails, I can tell you that,” said her mother with finality.
Isabelle brooded over the matter until the end of the week. She tried to get out of the day with Margie Hunter, but Mrs. Bryce was glad to be rid of her and forced her to go. She ordered Miss Watts not to go after her until half past five, when tea would be safely over.
Isabelle composed a note of explanation and left it on the bureau in the room which Christiansen was to occupy.
Dear Friend:
Because of others, and Margie Hunter’s mother I cannot meet you at the station. I have to spend the day with old Margie Hunter. I have organized the Amazons, as you said, and we are strong and true, in riding breeches. I have a plan, but don’t tell Max.
Your loving friend,
Isabelle Bryce.