DAVID VAVASOUR WILLIAMS It is in the spring of 1901.

A fine warm evening, but at eight o'clock the dusk is already on the verge of darkness as Honoria emerges from the lift at her Chancery Lane Office (near the corner of Carey Street), puts her latch-key into the door of the partners' room, and finds herself confronting the silhouette of a young man against the western glow of the big window.
_Norie_ (inwardly rather frightened): "Hullo! Who are _you_ and what are you doing here ?" _Vivie_ (mimicking a considerate, cringing burglar): "Sorry to startle you, lidy, but I don't mean no 'arm.

I'll go quiet.

Me name's D.V.

Williams..." _Norie_: "You absurd creature! But you shouldn't play such pranks on these respectable premises.