He entered.
"How does it go ?" "Two teas and a supper yesterday.

A wedding breakfast this morning." "Bravo! What did I tell you?
You'll want a bigger place before the end of the year." The shop was well stocked, the window well laid out; everything indicated a flourishing, though as yet a small, business.

Mrs.Clover, a neat, comely, and active woman, with a complexion as clear as that of her own best china, chatted vivaciously with the visitor, whilst she superintended the unpacking of a couple of crates by a muscular youth and a young lady (to use the technical term), her shop assistant.
"Why are you off to-day ?" she inquired presently, after moving to the doorway for more private talk.
Mr.Gammon made his explanation with spirit and humour.
"You're a queer man, if ever there was one," Mrs.Clover remarked after watching him for a moment and averting her eyes as soon as they were met by his.

"You know your own business best, but I should have thought--" It was a habit of hers to imply a weighty opinion by suddenly breaking off, a form of speech known to the grammarians by a name which would have astonished Mrs.Clover.Few women of her class are prone to this kind of emphasis.

Her friendly manner had a quietness, a reserve in its cordiality, which suited well with the frank, pleasant features of a matron not yet past her prime.
"It's all right," he replied, more submissively than he was wont to speak.