‘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.’