n't be too sure--I'm a pretty bad housekeeper."

"I know you're not."

"Careless and horribly extravagant--every one says so."

"I won't let you break _me_!... Say, you'd ought to be married to a real
man--that's what you are made for."

"Thanks!" Milly said a little sadly. "I've had all of _that_ I
want.... This suits me far better."

"Well, it does me, anyway!"

* * * * *

Thus Milly's second marriage came off. In another month she and Virginia
were living quite happily in Ernestine Geyer's establishment at "number
236," with muslin curtains behind the windows, and flower-boxes.

PART FIVE

THE CAKE SHOP

I

"NUMBER 236"

Milly was content. At least she felt that she ought to be, and she
really was--for a time. Thanks to Ernestine's "Carter Blanch," she had
made a comfortable, homelike interior out of the little old house, in
which she installed her own furniture and almost nothing of Ernestine's.
Sam Reddon helped her make the alterations and decorate afresh "number
236," as the new home came to be known among Milly's friends. Reddon was
explosively enthusiastic over the Laundryman, whom he described as a
"regular old sport," "one of the finest," "the right sort," and the
climax of praise--"one first-class man." He took a mischievous delight
in drawing her out, especially on the aesthetic side, where she was
wildest, and he revelled in her idiom, which reminded him of the dear
_argot_ of his beloved city, and which he declared was "the language of
the future." Clive Reinhard, also, who came to dinner at the new house
very soon, approved warmly of Ernestine. In his more conventional
vocabulary she was "a character," "a true type," and "a trump." He liked
her all the better, perhaps, because he did not feel obliged to study
her professionally, and relaxed in her company.

Indeed, all the men Milly knew liked Ernestine Geyer and quickly got the
habit of dropping in at "number 236" at all hours,--it was so
conveniently near their offices and clubs, they said. They came for
breakfast and luncheon and tea, and even for whiskey and cigarettes
after the theatre. With the blunted sense of fine proprieties
characteristic of their sex, they approved unreservedly of Milly's new
marriage. In Reddon's frank phrase it was "an extraordinary fit." "You
two are complements--which is more than one can say of most regular
marriages."

(It was more than Milly could say of he