Leslie hesitated for an instant.
"Possibly Mr. Beekman ..." she laughed mischievously.
Beekman looked up with mock gravity.
"Miss Wilkinson," he said, "you've heard that old saying about the game and the name? Come!" And he took her by the arm.
Mrs. Pallet-Searing watched the happy young couple leave her house, and her face took on an expression little in accord with the worldly and cynical advice that she had given the girl a few moments before.
From her corner of the limousine Leslie confided to Beekman:
"Do you know that every time I do something, have something, or give something, now that we live on Bankrupt Row, up there on the Drive, I have to explain to everybody that it's my money, and not my father's, as most people imagine."
"I wish I could do something for you or your father, but I'm only an atom of an aggregation here in New York, confound it!"
Leslie looked at him gratefully, but went on: