'Done out of the house. Except the smallest, fewest trifles such as--such as--ahem. The ironing, dear Fräulein, I will do mostly myself. There are the shirts, you know--husbands are particular--' 'How many?' 'How many?' echoed Frau Meyer. 'How many what?' 'Husbands.' '_Aber_, Fräulein,' expostulated the secretary. 'She said husbands,' said the large girl. 'Shirts, then--how many? It's all the same.' 'All the same?' cried Frau Meyer, who adored her husband. 'In the work it makes.' 'But, dear Fräulein, the shirts are not washed at home.' 'But ironed.' 'I iron them.' 'And I heat the irons and keep up the fire to heat them with.' 'Yes, yes,' cried Frau Meyer, affecting the extreme pleasure of one who has just received an eager assurance, 'so you do.' The large girl stared. 'Cooking?' she inquired, after a slightly stony pause. 'Most of that I will do myself, also. The Herr is very particular. I shall only need a little--quite a little assistance. And think of all the new and excellent dishes you will learn to make.' The girl waved this last inducement aside as unworthy of consideration. 'Number of persons in the household?' Frau Meyer coughed before she could answer. 'Oh,' said she, 'oh, well--there is my husband, and naturally myself, and then there are--there are--are you fond of children?' she ended hastily. The girl fixed her with a suspicious eye. 'It depends how many there are,' she said cautiously. Frau Meyer got up and leaned over the Fräulein at the desk, and whispered into her impassive ear. The Fräulein shook her head. 'I am afraid it is no use,' she said. Frau Meyer whispered again. The Fräulein looked up, and fastening her eyes on a point somewhere below the large girl's chin said, 'The wages are good.' 'What are they?' asked the girl. 'Considering the treatment you will receive--' the girl's eyes again became suspicious--'they are excellent.' 'What are they?' 'Everything found, and a hundred and eighty marks a year.' The girl turned and walked toward the door. 'Stop! Stop!' cried Frau Meyer desperately. 'I cannot see you throw away a good place with so little preliminary reflection. Have you considered that there would be no trudging to market, and consequently you will only require half the boots and stockings and skirts those poor girls have to buy who live up in the villas that look so grand and pretend to give such high wages?' The girl paused. 'And no steep stairs to climb, laden with heavy baskets? And hardly any washing--hardly any washing, I tell you!' she almost shrieked in her anxiety. 'And no cooking to speak of? And every Sunday--mind, _every_ Sunday evening free? And I never scold, and my husband never scolds, and with a hundred and eighty marks a year there is nothing a clever girl cannot buy. Why, it is an ideal, a delightful place--one at which I would jump if I were a girl, and this lady'--indicating me--'would jump, too, would you not, Rose-Marie?'