Sir Peveril MacFarlane felt really biggity as he strolled towards the London Stock Exchange accompanied by Stella and Fanny; they, not surprisingly, though no-one would have guessed from their appearance and vivacious behaviour, were rather groggy, having had little sleep last night, being forced to employ their minds as well as their bodies to a lover who seemed to have the stamina of a rampant bull and the inquisitive sharpness of mind of a Treasury Division Silk; but they had, thanks to their former employments, been able to satisfactorily answer Sir P's searching questions about Capitalism – regarding which he seemed to know scarcely anything, "and," said Stella in a whispered moment, "it's as if he's just popped in from when Feudalism ruled the roost," at which Fanny giggled, "well, he's certainly Cock of the Walk tonight!" and they both collapsed on the bed; but he eventually knew all about Stocks and Shares, Promissory Notes, Government Bonds, and how all of these things were traded at the Stock Exchange, which was where he would need to register his new venture: Amazonian Extravaganza, "but not," said Stella and the girls shared a glance, "on the Public Exchange, you need to put it in the Dark 'Change, it's nearly all the same buyers, but mainly specialist Traders, and it's all word of mouth, nothing on paper, but just as much cash floating through the system and if you want start-up Capital, that's where you'll get it, probably higher interest, but if you're going to be taking what you say, that shouldn't make any odds," Sir P consulted the watch which hung on a gold chain across his expansive breadbasket, "c'mon lassies, oor late, verra, verra late, furra verrrra imporrrrtant date, and they giggled at the exaggerated way he rolled his Rs – although, in extenuation, it should be said that the broad Scots dialect he affected in London was very different from his speech whenever back home in Albion: the heir to an extensive estate in the West Highlands, he had been educated at St Andrews and in Paris and could meet on good terms with Princes, Bishops and Potentates; but now he had an image for his company, one he had seen in a future time, in a television adventure, featuring Xena, Warrior Princess, and he wanted to meet with an artist who could turn his recollection into reality: "I'll tell you what. Sir P, my friend Simeon is a painter, we've modelled for him, ain't we Tell? would you like to meet him? even if he can't help you, he's got lots of chums and they're all painters and sculptors and suchlike and I’m sure one of them would do for you!" and the budding entrepreneur clapped his hands: "excellent, my dear Miss Fanny, after we have conducted our business in this Dark 'Change, we'll go for coffee and see if we can't meet up with your Bohemian chum, I rather like that idea – it's a Plan!"