“It might be done, my dear,” mused Mr Poulter.

“But, whatever you do, don’t let her think I suggested it to you.”

“‘Poulter’s’ can be the soul of tact and discretion,” he informed her.

After more conversation on the subject, Mavis was about to take her leave when the postman brought a parcel addressed to her at the academy, from her old Pennington friend, Mrs Trivett.  It contained eggs, butter, and cream, together with a letter.  This last told Mavis that things were in a bad way at the farm; in consequence, her husband was thinking of sub-letting his house, in order to migrate to Melkbridge, where he might earn a living by teaching music.  It closed with repeated wishes for Mavis’s welfare.

“These people will send things in my maiden name,” said Mavis, as she wondered if Mr Poulter’s suspicions had been aroused by similar packages having occasionally arrived for her addressed in the same way.

“It was only to be expected.  From your professional association with the academy, they would think it only proper to address you by ‘Miss’ and your maiden name,” remarked guileless Mr Poulter.

Upon Mavis’s third visit to Miss Nippett after her interview with Mr Poulter, she noticed a change in the sick woman’s appearance; she was sitting up in bed with a face wreathed in smiles.

“’Ave you ’eard?” she cried excitedly, when she saw Mavis.

“Heard what?” asked Mavis innocently.

“‘Bout me an’ ‘Poulter’s.’  You don’t mean to say you ’aven’t ’eard!”

“I hope it’s good news.”

“Good!  Good!  It’s wonderful!  Jest you throw your eye over that.”

Mavis read a formally worded letter from Mr Poulter, in which he informed Miss Nippett “that, in consideration of her many years’ faithful service, he could think of no more fitting way to reward her than by taking her into partnership:  in accordance with this resolve, what was formerly known as ‘Poulter’s’ would in future be described for all time as ‘Poulter and Nippett’s.’”

“What d’ye think of that?” asked Miss Nippett.

“It’s only what you deserved.”

“There’s no going back on it now it’s in black and white.”

“He wouldn’t wish to.”

“It’s proof, ain’t it, legal an’ all that?”

“Absolute.  I congratulate you,” said Mavis, as she took the wan white hand in hers.

“Even now I can’t b’lieve it’s true,” sighed the accompanist, as she sank exhausted on her pillows.

“You’re overdoing it,” said Mavis, as she mixed some brandy and milk.

“I ’ate the muck,” declared Miss Nippett, when Mavis besought her to drink it.

“But if you don’t do what you’re told, you’ll never get well.”

“Reely!”

“Of course not.  Take this at once,” Mavis commanded.

“Here, I say, who are you talking to?  Have you for gotten I’m a partner in—­” Here the little woman broke off, to exclaim as she burst into tears:  “It’s true:  it’s true:  it’s reely, reely true.”