Thus Ernestine would have nothing of any business that catered solely to the rich and exclusive classes. A sure democratic and business instinct made her rely for steady profits upon the multitude, who "must all get washed sometime," in her favorite axiom, and as cheaply as possible. "You never take any of my ideas seriously," Milly complained after this rebuff. * * * * * It happened to be a stormy winter's evening when the Ideal Laundry had been up for discussion. They could hear occasional spats of snow against the window-panes behind the long red curtains, which had been drawn. A wood fire was crumbling into glowing coals on the hearth. Virginia had long since gone to bed, and Sam Reddon, who had dropped in for dinner in the absence of his wife from the city, had left after an evening of banter and chit-chat.... At Milly's despairing exclamation, Ernestine squatted down on a footstool at her feet and looked up at her mate with the pained expression of a faithful dog, who wants to understand his Idol's desires, but can't. "What's the matter with _this_, dearie?" she grumbled, taking one of Milly's hands in her powerful grip. "Can't you be satisfied just as it is? Seems to me--" and she broke off to look around the cheerful room with a glance of appreciation--"seems to me we're pretty comfortable, we three, just as we are, without worrying 'bout making a lot more money and trying things that would be a bother and might turn out badly in the end." As Milly's face still gloomed, unresponsive, she added contritely,-- "I know it's small. It ain't what you--" "Oh, it isn't that!" Milly interrupted hastily. "You don't understand, Ernestine; I want to do something for myself just to show I can. I'm so useless--always have been, I suppose.... Well." She rose from her chair, disengaging herself from the Laundryman's embrace, and stood musingly with one foot on the fender, the firelight playing softly over the silk of her gown. (The favorite attitude, by the way, of the heroine in Jack's illustrations of Clive Reinhard's stories.) "You ain't one mite useless to _me_!" Ernestine protested. (In her emotional moments she lapsed into her native idiom in spite of herself.) "You're kind, Ernestine," Milly replied almost coldly. "But I really _am_ nearly useless. Can't you see why I want to do something for myself and my child, as you have done for yourself? And not be always a dependent!" Ernestine threw herself on the lounge, looking quite miserable. The worm in her swelling bud of happiness had already appeared. "I'm content," she sighed, "just as it is." "I'm not!" Milly retorted, rather unfeelingly. "It suits me to a T, if it could only last." For a time neither added anything to the subject. Milly, who was never hard for more than a few moments, went over to the lounge and caressed the Laundryman's face. "That was horrid of me," she said. "It's going to last--forever, I guess."