He shut the door with a bang which thundered through the place. He was very tall, with a long grey beard, and his hat crammed over his eyes; and as he strode past me he did look so very angry that I did not dare ask who he had been speaking to. But the language he had used was so extremely applicable to the Ogre, that I felt convinced it must be he. So I went to the room out of which he had come. Sure enough, on the glass door was "The People's Stock Exchange." I entered, and there, on the other side of a polished counter, was Mr Stephen Miller.
"I have found you again," I remarked.
He was talking to a young man--quite a boy, in fact--who was moving towards the door as I went in.
"You'll be here at the usual time on Monday?"
"Yes, sir."
The youth regarded me with what I almost felt was a twinkle in his eye; though I had not the remotest notion what he meant by such behaviour. And the Ogre and I were left alone. I repeated my previous observation.
"You perceive that I have found you again."
"It would seem so." He stood rubbing his chin and regarding me with a contemplative kind of air. He was ever so much better dressed than he ever was in our part of the world; but, in spite of it, he looked just the same disreputable, untrustworthy object. If anything, his face was fatter and redder than it used to be; and his eyes more bloodshot. "Come into my private office."
He led the way into a room beyond, and I followed. When we were in he stared at me again; and this time he grinned.
"You're quite a beauty--that's a pretty frock of yours. Perhaps it's the frock that does it--you never know." His manner made my cheeks burn. "Well, and how are they all at The Chase?"