Isabelle’s début as dramatist and actress was much discussed and laughed over in the colony. Her pranks had long been a favourite topic, but this last one marked her as a real personality.
“Isabelle,” Martin Christiansen said to her, a day or so after the performance, “you gave me so much pleasure with your interpretation of Mr. Dickens’s work, that I want to do something for your pleasure.”
“Do you?” said Isabelle, enthusiastically.
“Theatrical stars are so temperamental, I scarcely know what to suggest. What does a leading lady and producer like to do in her moments of idle ease?”
It was a great opportunity, and Isabelle considered it at length.
“I should like to go bathing on the club beach, and have lunch afterwards on the club porch.”
“Most reasonable of Leading Ladies, what day would suit you best?”
“To-morrow”—promptly.
“Good. Shall we say at eleven? I will give myself the honour of coming for you.”
“You ask Max to let me go, will you?”