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.