Bess was standing by him, with her hand on his shoulder. ‘Oh, George, look, there is a letter!’ she cried suddenly. ‘Where?’ said George, looking inquiringly about him. ‘In the cup, dear; look, four black dots at the bottom of the cup—that means a letter. It always comes true.’ George laughed. ‘You didn’t see a coffin in the fire, or a thief in the candle last night, did you, dear?’ he said. ‘What a silly goose you are to believe in omens!’ But, as it happened, the teacup _was_ a prophet, and Bess was quite triumphant over it, for by the twelve o’clock post there came a letter from A. B., requesting Mr. George Smith to call on him that afternoon at an address in the City. When George had read the letter twice over, and Bess had read it three times, they had a wild polka round the room, much to the astonishment of Miss Duck below, who had fears for the ceiling. At the appointed time George, letter in hand, presented himself at the address given, and was a little taken aback to find it was a public-house. While he was hesitating and wondering whether A. B. was the man in his shirtsleeves behind the bar, and, if so, what he could want with a gentlemanly person at £150 a year, an elderly gentleman, with beautiful long white hair and a flowing beard, touched him on the arm. ‘Are you Mr. George Smith?’ said the nice old gentleman, in a kind, soft voice. ‘Yes, I am,’ said George. ‘Are you Mr. A. B.?’ ‘Yes.’ George wanted to seize the old gentleman’s hand and shake it there and then. He was delighted to find A. B. such a venerable and very pleasant person. ‘You’ll excuse my meeting you here,’ said A. B., ‘but the fact is I wasn’t sure my offices would be ready, and as I had business in this neighbourhood I thought this would do. I shall be very glad to accept you. The terms I think you know—£150 a year, paid weekly. The hours are light—ten till four; the duties also are light. I think we shall get on very nicely. You will come to-morrow at ten to the address on this piece of paper, and commence work at once.’ ‘Oh, thank you!’ exclaimed George, ready to hug the dear fatherly old fellow. ‘I will be there.’ George took the piece of paper, and put it carefully in his pocket. The old gentleman invited him to have a glass of sherry, shook hands, with him and went out, and George rushed back to Bess, bursting with the good news. They had such a tea that evening on the strength of it. George ate muffins and sallylunns, and talked and made jokes, and ate all at the same time, and nearly choked himself through the tea going the wrong way; and Bess was so excited that George declared he must take her to the play to keep her quiet. It was one of the happiest evenings of their short married life. The play was beautiful, and they sat in the pit, squeezed up close together, and George fell in love with the leading lady, and Bess punched him for it, and declared that the villain of the piece had made a great impression on her.