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: