It is a week since Mr. and Mrs. George Smith have taken up their residence beneath the humble rooftree of Mr. Jabez Duck.

‘Quite the gentleman,’ says Miss Duck, when she discusses the new lodgers with her brother.

‘And quite the lady,’ adds Mr. Duck, upon whom Bess’s bright country face has made a great impression.

‘You’re an idiot, Jabez,’ answers Georgina. ‘She may be a lady in comparison with the persons with whom you are in the habit of associating—housekeepers, cooks, and such like menials—but Mrs. Smith is not a real lady. Anybody could see that with half an eye.’

‘Well, my dear, I’ve got four half eyes, and I say distinctly that a well-bred and well-behaved young woman——’

‘Quite so, Jabez; she is a very nice young woman: but a young woman is not a young lady.’

Mr. Jabez gave premonitory symptoms of a small joke by increasing in shininess. A smile spread up to the roots of his hair.

‘A young woman is not a young lady; but a young lady must be a young woman. Ha, ha!—that’s a paradox.’

‘It may be a paradocks, or a Victoria Docks, or an East India Docks, or any docks you like,’ said Miss Duck, snappishly; ‘but if Mrs. Smith ‘s a lady, I’ll eat my head.’

‘Don’t, my dear,’ exclaimed Jabez, with the premonitory shine bursting forth again. ‘It would be sure to bring on indigestion, and your temper’s awful when your digestion’s bad.’

‘Jabez, you’re a contemptible idiot. Such frivolous tomfoolery may suit the menial classes with which you mix; but don’t bring it into this house, if you please.’

Jabez evidently thought he’d made quite as many small jokes as his sister could stand for one day; so he finished his breakfast in silence and departed citywards.

The menial classes were metaphorically hurled at his head now whenever he and his sister were together; but Jabez was not to be provoked into picking up the gauntlet; and, in spite of all Georgina’s hints, the name of Mrs. Turvey never crossed his lips.

Leaving Mr. Jabez to get to the office by himself, let us walk upstairs to the first floor, and pay a visit to the newly married couple.

We will knock at the door first, for young married couples do not sit on either side of the room, with all the furniture between them as a barricade, like many old married couples do.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith have just finished breakfast. George is sitting in a low chair reading the newspaper, and Bess is on a hassock at his feet, looking up at him and doing a little quiet hero-worship.

Their marriage certificate is a week old. George resided in the apartments long enough to qualify for a licence, and then Bess came up to town and they were married quietly, and went back to spend their honeymoon at Dalston. George has been so good and kind, and Bess has been so happy, it has been quite like fairyland. Wandering about the Park hand in hand, lunching at the pastrycooks’, going to Madame Tussaud’s and to the theatre—it had seemed as if the people who had never got married on the sly and gone into apartments for the honeymoon could never have known what real happiness was.

George let a week go by in unalloyed bliss, then he put his hand in his pocket and counted his change out of the forty pounds he started married life with; he had but twenty left. Directly he made that discovery it was decided to take buses instead of cabs, and to go to the pit instead of the upper boxes, ‘And George dear,’ said Bess, ‘we must be very careful and economical till you get something to do. I think we’ll begin to dine at home instead of going out every day.’

‘Yes, dear, I think we’d better,’ said George. ‘I suppose Miss Duck won’t mind you cooking in the kitchen?’

‘Of course not, dear. Let’s start housekeeping to-day. What shall we have for dinner?’

George suggested lots of things, but they were all too much for two people.

Bess was perplexed too. Suddenly a bright idea occurred.

‘Oh, George dear,’ she said, ‘do you think you could eat a nice little toad-in-the-hole?’

‘A toad-in-the hole, little woman? Splendid! I say, can you really make one, though?’

‘Yes, indeed I can. Father used to say——’

For a moment her voice quivered and her eyes filled with tears.

Smiling through them as the April sun gleams through the showers she went on:

‘You must taste my toad-in-the-hole. I’ll make one to-day, and you shall help me.’

‘I—I don’t think I can, dear,’ answered her husband, pulling his moustache doubtfully. ‘I’m an awful duffer with my hands, you know.’

‘Don’t be a goose. You shall go and buy the things.’

George had his hat on directly.

Bess gave him her reticule to take on his arm, and then told him to buy two neck chops and some flour and some eggs.

‘And be sure you see your change is right, you careless boy,’ she added, laughing.

George Heritage marching down the street with a reticule in his hand was a sight worth seeing. He felt as proud of his commission as if Her Majesty had made him a plenipotentiary. He wasn’t quite sure where you got the flour and the eggs, so he tried the butcher’s for the latter and the greengrocer’s for the former, but at last he got into the right shops.

‘I want some flour, please,’ he said to the man behind the counter.

‘How much, sir?’

‘Well, I don’t know quite. About enough to make a toad-in-the-hole for two.’

The man stared at his customer for a minute, and then suggested perhaps half a quartern would do.

‘Certainly,’ said George. If the man had said a hundredweight or an ounce he would have said the same.

When all his commissions were executed—though not without considerable puzzling over quantities—George marched home in triumph.

He had only broken one egg and let the flour all over the reticle by poking the chops in so that the sharp point of the bone made a hole in the bag. Bess lifted the lid, looked into the reticule, and gave a little scream.

It was annoying to have the chops and a broken egg and the flour all mixed up together; but still, as it was George’s first journey to market, he was forgiven.

He had a hug, and was ordered to sit still and not get into mischief while his wife went downstairs into the kitchen and prepared the delicate dish.

It was a happy dinner, I can tell you; better than all your Richmond follies and your London restaurant nonsenses. The toad-in-the-hole was delicious, and George insisted upon Miss Duck tasting it, and he informed Miss Duck that he’d been to market, and did Miss Duck ever taste anything so delicious in her life?

Miss Duck said, ‘La, Mr. Smith, what a funny man you are!’ and then George made small jokes, smaller than any Jabez had ever been guilty of in his life; but Miss Duck giggled prodigiously.

George declared privately to Bess that Miss Duck was a very decent old soul; and as Georgina had been particularly gracious, Bess agreed that she was. ‘Only it’s lucky for you. George, she’s so old and plain, or I should be jealous.’

I hope Miss Duck wasn’t listening at the key-hole to hear this remark, and I sincerely trust she wasn’t looking through it to witness the manner in which George closed Bess’s wicked little mouth.

That was yesterday. This morning there is no frivolity going on. George is reading the newspaper in order to find a berth that will suit him.

The disappearance of half his capital has reminded him that he is no longer a gentleman, but a young man who has a wife to keep and his living to earn.

When he comes to a likely advertisement, he reads it aloud to Bess, and they discuss it.

‘How do you think this will do, dear?’ he says, presently:

‘“Wanted, a married man, without encumbrance, to drive a pair, look after a small garden, help in the house, and fill up his spare time as amanuensis to a deaf lady. A small salary, but the person will have the advantage of living in a vegetarian family, where total abstinence and Church of England principles offer special advantages to a true Christian.”’

‘How’ll that do?’ asked George, with a smile.

‘Not at all,’ answered Bess, laughing. ‘But George dear, what does “encumbrance” mean?’

‘You, my pet.’

‘Oh, I’m sure it doesn’t. What does it mean?’

‘Ask me again in a year or two, my darling,’ answered George, with a wicked little smile, and then he went on with his paper.

Bess went on wondering what ‘encumbrance’ a married man could have till George read her another advertisement.

‘Advertiser would be glad to hear of a gentleman by birth, not more than thirty, who would introduce advertiser’s homemade brandy to the upper classes. A liberal commission given. A real gentleman might do well.’

‘Oh, George,’ said Bess, ‘don’t go after that, dear. I don’t want you to go walking about with brandy-bottles sticking out of your pockets.’

‘And fancy introducing it to the upper classes, eh? This sort of thing:—Allow me to introduce you: Upper Classes—Home-made Brandy. Home-made Brandy—Upper Classes.’

Bess laughed as George introduced the arm-chair to the sofa with a stately bow. The arm-chair was the brandy, and the sofa was the upper classes.

George read on, selecting the funny advertisements for Bess’s amusement. Suddenly he put the paper down.

‘By Jove, Bess,’ he exclaimed, rubbing his hands, I believe I’ve found the very thing. Listen to this, little woman.’

George picked the paper up, folded it out carefully, rose and struck a commanding attitude, then, clearing his voice, he read aloud the following advertisement:

‘“Wanted immediately, a gentleman for a commercial office. No previous experience necessary. Hours, ten to four. Salary to commence with, £150 per annum. N.B.—Must be of gentlemanly appearance and address.—Apply, in first instance by letter, to A. B., Burkett’s Library, Leicester Square.”’

‘Oh, George,’ exclaimed Bess, when he had finished, ‘do write at once. It would be just the thing to begin with.’

‘Magnificent!’ answered her husband. ‘Hours ten to four, no previous knowledge, and £3 a week. Why, my dear, it would be a splendid beginning.’

‘So it would,’ said Bess; ‘and I’m sure, dear, you’re just what they want.’

George grinned.

‘I say, little woman’ (the conceited fellow was looking in the glass all the while), ‘the applicant must be of gentlemanly appearance. Perhaps my appearance will be against me.’

‘You vain boy; you want me to flatter you,’ said Bess, looking at him lovingly, ‘and I shan’t. You’ll do very well indeed, sir, and you know it.’

George was quite certain he should do.

Bess routed out some writing-paper, and then she went down to Miss Duck and borrowed a pen and ink, and then she and George sat down and spoilt a dozen sheets of paper, and at last between them they produced the following:

‘Mr. George Smith presents his compliments to Mr. A. B., and he would be very pleased to accept his offer. He is four-and-twenty, active, and anxious to get on. If Mr. A. B. wishes for an interview, he will call at any time Mr. A. B. chooses to appoint. Mr. George Smith thinks it well to enclose his carte for Mr. A. B. to see. Will Mr. A. B. kindly answer per return.’

When the important note was folded and in the envelope, and the address had been carefully copied from the paper, Bess and George both went together to put it in the post. Bess peeped down the letter-box to see if it had gone safely in, and then George peeped, and then they both walked away full of hope, and feeling sure that the photograph would settle the matter at once.

‘If A. B. were a lady it would,’ said George.

Then Bess said he was a nasty vain thing, and he thought all the girls were in love with him.

To which George replied that it didn’t much matter if they were, as he was only in love with one girl, and she was the dearest little girl in the world, and God bless her little heart, etc., etc., which style of conversation being probably quite familiar to the reader, there is no necessity to make further extracts from it.

It was very wicked of Bess to do what she did that night, I dare say, but you see she had not been brought up very well. She knelt down and prayed to God to bless her dear husband, who had sacrificed so much for her, and she asked Him to let them live happily together all their lives; and, oh, if God would only let George get this situation and make Mr. A. B. love him, she would be, oh, so thankful. Her heart was full of gratitude to God for giving her George’s love, and that night it poured out and spread itself over everything she loved and knew. And as she was dropping off to sleep, George distinctly heard her say,—

‘God bless Mr. A. B.’

And he wasn’t a bit jealous.