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. She narrows her dark eyes and gives him a honeyed look. COKESON. [Expanding] It's all against the rules. Suppose I had my friends here to see me! It'd never do! RUTH. No, sir. COKESON. [A little taken aback] Exactly! And here you are wanting to see a junior clerk! RUTH. Yes, sir; I must see him. COKESON. [Turning full round to her with a sort of outraged interest] But this is a lawyer's office. Go to his private address. RUTH. He's not there. COKESON. [Uneasy] Are you related to the party? RUTH. No, sir. COKESON. [In real embarrassment] I don't know what to say. It's no affair of the office. RUTH. But what am I to do? COKESON. Dear me! I can't tell you that. SWEEDLE comes back. He crosses to the outer office and passes through into it, with a quizzical look at Cokeson, carefully leaving the door an inch or two open. COKESON. [Fortified by this look] This won't do, you know, this won't do at all. Suppose one of the partners came in!