There were five other girls behind the counter of the Milverton Street post-office, in addition to telegraphists in the room above, several male clerks, and a small gang of telegraph boys. Dora’s great friend among the other girls was Rose Cook, a fat, good-natured, sentimental creature, who was at present desperately in love with a gentleman she had met at a dance--a Mr Somers, who wrote for the newspapers. Mr Somers was a friend of some friends of Miss Cook’s, and that was how she had come to meet him, and to hear of his very tall friend, Mr Mortimer. But it should be added that Mr Somers had seen very little of Miss Cook, had no idea of the passion that consumed her, and was certainly wholly ignorant of the fact that she was employed in the Milverton Street post-office. He had only been in this particular post-office once in his life, and then he had had eyes for none save the young lady who took in the telegrams. Now, earlier in this very day that witnessed the journey of the Long ’Un and Koko to Milverton Street, Miss Cook had been bemoaning the fact that "Mr Somers" had actually been in the post-office a few days previously, and had not so much as glanced at her. "He was looking at _you_--they all do!" she had exclaimed, while discussing the matter at lunch with Dora. Dora made no reply, but she was thinking over Miss Cook’s complimentary complaint later that day, when a very tall man entered the post-office and proceeded to one of the compartments where telegram forms and pointless pencils attached to pieces of string were supplied for the convenience of the public. Dora noticed that the tall man occasionally glanced towards the door, and presently began to beckon to somebody who was presumably standing in the doorway. After a time the person beckoned to entered the post-office, and, as he did so, Miss Cook, who was sitting next to Dora, gave vent to a little gasp. "What’s the matter, dear?" inquired Dora. "That--that’s--Mr Somers!" exclaimed Miss Cook. "And who is the other?" asked Dora, who was not greatly impressed by Mr Somers’s appearance. "That must be his friend, Mr Mortimer." Quite unconscious of the fact that their identity was no secret in the post-office, the Long ’Un and Koko proceeded to compile telegrams. "What a lot of forms Mr Mortimer is tearing up!" whispered Dora to her friend. "Evidently sending a telegram to a girl," replied Miss Cook, who was still looking agitated, and whose thoughts were naturally trending in a sentimental direction. Dora smiled. The sight of Koko standing on tip-toe, and craning his head over the Long ’Un’s arm, was certainly smile-inspiring. So Dora smiled.