"Much the same thing. Smugglers or pirates are sure to be mixed up with nautch girls, whatever they are. Or at all events girls of some kind. I don't mind calling it a geisha dance if they like. I could borrow a kimono." "'Lilith lisps,'" said Beth, taking her pen again, "'that among the patrons of the Hailey Compton Smuggling Pageant is Miss Mary Lambert, whose Nautch Girl dance has just delighted London. The wide appeal made by this pageant--the most magnificently staged show ever produced in England--will be understood when it is realised that among those interested, besides Miss Mary Lambert, are Sir Evelyn Dent, the Bishop of ...' remind me afterwards to find out what he's bishop of. 'And....' Now did Aunt Agatha mention anyone else? I can't remember. Anyhow, we'll put in Jimmy. He won't mind. 'The Earl of Colavon, whose name stands _facile princeps_ among our sporting peers of the younger generation.' Thank heaven, there's another lisp. That makes five. If I'd three more I'd be through with the beastly things for this week, and I'd take you out on top of a bus to Kew or somewhere to get a breath of fresh air." 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."