and he pitied Vivie.  Besides he was a prime appreciator of a lark.  Should she even tell Rossiter?  No, of course not.  That was just one of the advantages of being “David.”  As “David” she could form a sincere and inspiring friendship with Rossiter which would be utterly beyond her reach as “Vivie.”  How pale beside the comradeship of Honoria now appeared the hand-grips, the hearty male free-masonry of a man like Rossiter.  How ungrateful however even to make such an admission to herself....

At present the only people who knew of her prank and guessed or knew her purpose were Honoria and Bertie Adams.  Honoria! what a noble woman, what a true friend.  Somehow, now she was David, she saw Honoria in a different light.  Poor Norie!  She too had her wistful leanings, her sorrows and disappointments.  What a good thing it would be if her mother decided to die—­of course she would, could, never say any such thing to Norie—­to die and set free Honoria to marry Major Petworth Armstrong!  She felt Norie still hankered after him, but perhaps kept him at bay partly because of her mother’s molluscous clingings—­No! she wouldn’t even sneer at Lady Fraser.  Lady Fraser had been one of the early champions of Woman’s rights.  Very likely it was a dread of Vivie’s sneers and disappointment that had mainly kept back Norie from accepting Major Armstrong’s advances.  Well, when next they met she—­Vivie—­or better still David—­would set that right.

CHAPTER VII

HONORIA AGAIN

7, Fig Tree Court, Temple.
March 20, 1902.

DEAR HONORIA,—­

I am going down to spend Easter with my people in South Wales.  Before I leave I should so very much like a long talk with you where we can talk freely and undisturbed.  That is impossible at the Office for a hundred reasons, especially now that Beryl Claridge has taken to working early in her new-found zeal, while Bertie Adams deems it his duty to stay late.  I am—­really, truly—­grieved to hear that your mother is so ill again.  I would not ask to meet her—­even if she was well enough to receive people—­because she does not know me and when one is as ill as she is, the introduction to a stranger is a horrid jar.  But if you could fit in say an hour’s detachment from her side—­is it “bed-side” or is she able to get up?—­and could receive me in your own sitting-room, why then we could have that full and free talk I should like on your affairs and on mine and on the joint affairs of Fraser and Warren.

Yours sincerely,
D. V. W.

DEAR DAVID,—­

Come by all means.  The wish for a talk is fully reciprocated
on my side.  Mother generally tries to sleep in the afternoon
between three and six, and a Nurse is then with her.

Yours sincerely,
H. F.

“Mr. David Williams wishes to see you, Miss,” said a waiter, meeting Honoria on a Thursday afternoon, as she was emerging into their tiny hall from her mother’s room.