The scene is the managing clerk’s room, at the offices of James and Walter How, on a July morning.  The room is old fashioned, furnished with well-worn mahogany and leather, and lined with tin boxes and estate plans.  It has three doors.  Two of them are close together in the centre of a wall.  One of these two doors leads to the outer office, which is only divided from the managing clerk’s room by a partition of wood and clear glass; and when the door into this outer office is opened there can be seen the wide outer door leading out on to the stone stairway of the building.  The other of these two centre doors leads to the junior clerk’s room.  The third door is that leading to the partners’ room.

The managing clerk, Cokeson, is sitting at his table adding up figures in a pass-book, and murmuring their numbers to himself.  He is a man of sixty, wearing spectacles; rather short, with a bald head, and an honest, pugdog face.  He is dressed in a well-worn black frock-coat and pepper-and-salt trousers.

Cokeson.  And five’s twelve, and three—­fifteen, nineteen, twenty-three, thirty-two, forty-one-and carry four. [He ticks the page, and goes on murmuring] Five, seven, twelve, seventeen, twenty-four and nine, thirty-three, thirteen and carry one.

     He again makes a tick.  The outer office door is opened, and
     Sweedle, the office-boy, appears, closing the door behind him. 
     He is a pale youth of sixteen, with spiky hair.

Cokeson. [With grumpy expectation] And carry one.

Sweedle.  There’s a party wants to see Falder, Mr. Cokeson.

Cokeson.  Five, nine, sixteen, twenty-one, twenty-nine—­and carry two.  Send him to Morris’s.  What name?

Sweedle.  Honeywill.

Cokeson.  What’s his business?

Sweedle.  It’s a woman.

Cokeson.  A lady?

Sweedle.  No, a person.

Cokeson.  Ask her in.  Take this pass-book to Mr. James. [He closes the pass-book.]

Sweedle. [Reopening the door] Will you come in, please?

Ruth Honeywill comes in.  She is a tall woman, twenty-six years old, unpretentiously dressed, with black hair and eyes, and an ivory-white, clear-cut face.  She stands very still, having a natural dignity of pose and gesture.

     Sweedle goes out into the partners’ room with the pass-book.

Cokeson. [Looking round at Ruth] The young man’s out. [Suspiciously] State your business, please.

Ruth. [Who speaks in a matter-of-fact voice, and with a slight West-Country accent] It’s a personal matter, sir.

Cokeson.  We don’t allow private callers here.  Will you leave a message?

Ruth.  I’d rather see him, please.