Then Hugh went into the City and fetched up Japanese silk, and lace, and large white buttons; and Millie sewed with her might.
Hugh thrived, and his success was noised among the London Welsh. The preacher of Kingsend Chapel visited him.
"Not been in the Temple you have, Mistar Eevanss, almost since you were spliced," he said. "Don't say the wife makes you go to the capel of the English."
"Busy am I making money."
"News that is to me, Mistar Eevanss. Much welcome there is for you with us."
In four years Hugh had eighteen machines, at each of which a skilled woman sat; and he hired young girls to sew through buttons and hook-and-eyes and to make button-holes. These women and girls were under the hand of Millie, who kept count of their comings and goings and the work they performed, holding from their wages the value of the material they spoilt and of the minutes they were not at their task. Millie labored faithfully, her heart being perfect with her husband's. She and Hugh slept in the kitchen, for all the other rooms were stockrooms or workrooms; and the name by which the concern was called was "The French Model Blouse Co. Manageress—Mme. Zetta, the notorious French Modiste."
Howsoever bitterly people were pressed, Hugh did not cease to prosper. In riches, honor, and respect he passed many of the London Welsh.
For that he could not provide all the blouses that were requested of him, he rented a big house. That hour men were arrived to take thereto his belongings, Millie said: "I'll throw the Paisley shawl over my arm. I wouldn't lose it for anything"; and as she moved away the ten-pound note fell on the ground. "Well, I never!" she cried in her dismay. "It was there all the time."
Hugh seized the note from her hand.
"You've the head of a sieve," he said. Also he lamented: "All these years we had no interest in him."