Norie:  “Well, there’ll always be the partnership which will go on unaltered.  I shall pretend you are only away for a time and your share shall be regularly paid in to your bank.  Of course I shall meet Mr. Vavasour Williams now and again and I can tell him things and consult with him.  If we think Beryl, after she is installed here as head clerk—­of course I shan’t make her a partner for years and years—­not at all if she remains flighty—­if we think she is unsuspicious, and Bertie Adams likewise, and the new clerks and the housekeeper and her husband, there is no reason why you should not come here fairly often and put in as much work as you can on our business.”

Vivie:  “Yes.  Of course I must be careful of one predicament.  I have studied the regulations about being admitted to the English Bar.  They are very quaint and medieval or early Georgian.  You mayn’t be a Chartered Accountant or Actuary—­the Lord alone knows why!  I suppose some Lord Chancellor was done in the eye in Elizabeth’s reign by an actuary and laid down that law.  Equally you mayn’t be a clergyman.  As to that we needn’t distress ourselves.  It’s rather piteous about the prohibiting Accountants, because as women we are not allowed to qualify in any capacity as Accountants or Actuaries; and work here is only permissible by our not pretending to belong to any recognized body like the Institute of Actuaries.  So that in coming to work for you I must not seem to be in any way doing the business of Accountants or Actuaries.  Indeed it might be awkward for my scheme if I was too openly associated with Fraser and Warren.

“I already think of myself as Williams—­I shall pose of course as a Welshman.  My appearance is rather Welsh, don’t you think?  It’s the Irish blood that makes me look Keltic—­I’m sure my father was an Irish student for the priesthood at Louvain, and certain scraps of information I got out of mother make me believe that her mother was a pretty Welsh girl from Cardiff, brought over to London Town by some ship’s captain and stranded there, on Tower Hill.

“However, I have still the whole scheme to work out and when I’m ready to start on it—­which will be very soon—­I’ll let you know.  Now, though I’d love to discuss all the other details, I mustn’t forget your mother will be wanting you—­I wish I had a mother to tend—­I wonder” (wistfully) “whether I was too hard on mine?

“D’you mind posting these letters as you go out?  I shall change back to Vivie Warren in a dressing gown, give myself a light supper, and then put in two hours studying Latin and Norman French.  Good night, dearest!”