"Dreamt you were married," said Mr. Hills, smiling at her.
Miss Bradshaw tossed her head. "Who to, pray?" she inquired.
"Me," said Mr. Hills, simply. "I woke up in a cold perspiration. Halloa! is that Georgie in there? How are you, George? Better?"
"I'm all right," said Mr. Wright, with dignity, as the other hooked the door open with his stick and nodded at him.
"Well, why don't you look it?" demanded the lively Mr. Hills. "Have you got your feet wet, or what?"
"Oh, be quiet," said Miss Bradshaw, smiling at him.
"Right-o," said Mr. Hills, dropping into a chair by the counter and caressing his moustache. "But you wouldn't speak to me like that if you knew what a terrible day I've had."
"What have you been doing?" asked the girl.
"Working," said the other, with a huge sigh. "Where's the millionaire? I came round on purpose to have a look at him."
"Him and mother have gone to the Empire?" said Miss Bradshaw.