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?’”