“What is my business?”
“Getting married.”
She stared at him with an angry flush mounting her face. She turned and mounted the stairs, leaning over to shout as she went, with unmistakable emphasis:
“When you’ve bats in your belfry that flut,
When your comprenez-vous line is cut,
When there’s nobody home
In the top of your dome,
Then, your head’s not a head; it’s a nut!”
Wally swore gently, and gave it up.
Isabelle’s life seemed to run in a series of crises. It was always mounting toward or descending from a climax. The present summer of her fourteenth year was no exception.
The historic American scenes were still highly popular, but Isabelle’s creative spirit was not yet satisfied. She was preparing the episode of John Smith and Pocahontas, to be played by Herbert Hunter and herself as principals, when it occurred to her that the scene ought to be played, by night, in the woods. She proposed it to Herbert but he scoffed at it. They never could manage. How could they get away at night? But Isabelle had it all planned.
Her idea was to pick out the spot in the woods, put up the tepees, collect the firewood, lay in supplies, and get everything ready in advance. Saturday night would be the best one for the encampment, because their parents always dined and danced at the club that night, so the coast would be clear so far as they were concerned.
“It isn’t parents, it’s servants that will get in our way,” objected Herbert.