Lillian herself was more or less responsible for “Coquette.” In a letter of Sept. 17, 1928, Mary wrote her: “I remember, dear, you were the first to tell me to do ‘Coquette.’ If it turns out well, it will be the second time in my career that you have helped me bridge a difficult place.” Lillian’s suggestion, however, had been, of course, for a silent picture.
Lillian looked out of the window of the den, on the boats passing up and down, perhaps reflecting a little on the uncertainty of human undertakings.
“I have one bright memory of that gloomy Spring,” she said presently. “One morning in March, while Reinhardt was in the desert, Douglas Fairbanks called me up, and asked:
“‘All right. We’re going on a plane to have a look at the war in Mexico. Will you go?’
“‘I should _think_ so. When do we start?’
“‘Right away, as soon as we can get ready.’
“I went up to Pickfair, to see Mary as to what we were to take. We met at the studio about eleven o’clock, drove to the Glendale Flying Field, and got into what seemed a very big, powerful plane. There were ten of us altogether: Doug and Mary; Doug’s brother, Robert, and his wife, Lurie; Mary’s niece (‘Little Mary’); two cousins, Verna and Sonny; myself, and the pilot and captain. There was plenty of room and we got off without any trouble.
“But it turned out that our motors were not powerful enough. We meant to cross the mountains by the San Bernardino Pass, but when we were over the low first range, we ran into a storm of wind and snow, and our engines would not lift the plane over the Pass. The snow got so thick that we could not see a thing in any direction—just a white, whirling mass. We were likely to run into the mountain-side, any moment. We rolled and billowed around, three times turning back, and trying it again. Then the captain, very white, came and shouted into Doug’s ear that it was madness to go on, that we had better turn back and follow down the Coast to Mexico. It was impossible, the captain said, to find the Pass.
“We turned back, and all were relieved. There had been no question as to the danger. Less than a year later, a big plane with a party was lost up there, dashed against the mountain-side.
“The weather was better as soon as we got away from the mountains, and along the Coast was fine. At Agua Caliente, Mexico, we ate dinner and spent the night.