Fortune was kind to Beth Appleby. While she was still biting the end of her pen Lord Colavon came into the room. He brought with him an air of breezy cheerfulness, very like the weather outside, and a gaiety natural enough in one who was not compelled to write weekly "lispings" for his daily bread and ran no risk of losing his income through the failure of an apathetic public to appreciate a Nautch Girl dance.
"Jimmy," said Beth, "help me out."
"The precise thing I've come to do," said Jimmy. "New 8-cylinder Pallas Athene, sports model, guaranteed 70 miles an hour on the road, did over 100 at Brooklands, stands panting at the door. Dine at Oxford. Dine at York. Dine anywhere you like. Home by moonlight. Is there a moon? Must be a moon in May. 'The young May moon is beaming, love.' The poet wouldn't have said that if there wasn't a moon in May. Dashed particular about facts, poets have to be."
"Oh, Jimmy," said Mary. "Just wait one minute till we get on our hats. Come, Beth."
But Beth Appleby had a conscience, or that fairly satisfactory substitute for a conscience, a sense of prudence. Lilith's Lispings had to be posted that night, or there would be no cheque at the end of the week. And Lilith had only achieved six poor lisps.
"Can't be done," she said, "simply can't. Unless you can help me out with Lilith, Jimmy."
Lord Colavon's tastes were sporting and dramatic, but he was not altogether ignorant of our current literature. Thanks to an intimacy of some years with Beth Appleby, he knew all about Lilith's lispings and had often suggested valuable ideas. He did not fail now.
"What about the Pallas Athene?" he said. "Absolutely the latest thing. Triumph of British engineering. Revelation of speed possibility of road travel. See company's catalogue, free on application."
"'Lilith lisps,'" Beth wrote rapidly, "'that the dernier cri in motor luxury is the——' what did you call it, Jimmy?"
"Pallas Athene. Sports model."