He handed me a telegram. “Eleven quite impossible. Say 8.30. Jun. Soph. Ord. begins at 9.30. Lalage Beresford.” “I was just sitting down to breakfast,” said Titherington, “and I had to get up without swallowing so much as a cup of tea and hop on to a car. She’s a tremendously prompt young woman.” “She is,” I said, “and always was.” “You know her then?” “I’ve known her slightly since she was quite a little girl.” “Why didn’t you tell me so last night?” “I tried to,” I said, “but you kept on interrupting me, so I gave up.” Titherington’s conscience may have pricked him. He was certainly in a chastened mood, but he showed no sign of wishing to make any further apologies. On the contrary he began to recover something of his habitual self-assertiveness. “If you know her,” he said, “perhaps you can tell me what a Jun. Soph. Ord. is?” “No, I can’t. She was always, even as a child, fond of using contractions. I remember her writing to me about a ‘comp.’ and she habitually used ‘hols’ and ‘rec.’ for holidays and recreation.” “It sounds to me,” said Titherington, “like a police court.” “You don’t mean to say that you think she’s been arrested for anything?” “I hope so.” “Why?” I asked. “Was she too much for you this morning?” Titherington ignored the second question. “I hope so,” he said, “because if she’s the sort of girl who gets arrested, she’ll be most useful to us. She was quite on for annoying Vittie. She says she’s been looking up his speeches and that he’s one of the worst liars she ever came across. She’s quite right there.” “I wish,” I said, “that you’d go and bail her out. Her father’s a clergyman and it will be a horrible thing if there’s any public scandal.” “I hinted at that as delicately as I could. I didn’t actually mention bail, because I wasn’t quite sure that a Jun. Soph. Ord. mightn’t be something in the Probate and Divorce Court. She simply laughed at me and said she didn’t want any help. She told me that she and Hilda, whoever Hilda is, are sure to be all right, because the Puffin is always a lamb--I suppose the Puffin is some name they have for the magistrate--but that a Miss Harrison would probably be stuck.” “She can’t have said Miss Harrison.” “No. She said Selly, or Selby-Harrison, short for Selina I thought.” “As a matter of fact, Selby-Harrison--it’s a hyphenated surname--is a man.” “Oh, is it?” said Titherington, using the neuter pronoun because, I suppose, he was still uncertain about Selby-Harrison’s sex. “I wish,” I said, “that I knew exactly what they’ve done.” “It doesn’t in the least matter to us. So long as she’s the kind of young woman who does something we shall be satisfied.” “Oh, she’s that.” “So I saw. And she’s an uncommonly good-looking girl. The crowd will be all on her side when she starts breaking up Vittie’s meetings.” “You accepted her offer of help then?” “Certainly,” said Titherington. “She’s to speak at a meeting of yours on the twenty-first.”