Mildred looked up in pleased surprise. “I have been half afraid my particularity about such things was a trifle annoying to you, Charlie,” she said in a gratified tone.
“Not at all, but my slovenliness must have been seriously so to you,” he returned, coming to her side. “I’ll try to reform in that respect,” he went on playfully, “and I wish that, to help me, you would impose a fine for every time you have my coat to hang up in the wardrobe, my boots or slippers to put away in the closet, or—”
“Oh, I should ruin you!” Mildred interrupted with a light, gleeful, happy laugh.
“Not particularly complimentary that, to either my good intentions or the supposed amount of my income,” he returned, bending over her to caress her hair and cheek. “Besides it would depend largely upon the weight of the fine. How heavy shall it be?”
“Fix it yourself, since the idea is all your own.”
“One dollar each time for every article left out of place; fine to be increased to not more than five in case no improvement is manifest within a month. How will that do?”
“Oh,” laughed Mildred, “I shall certainly impoverish you and speedily grow rich at your expense.”
“Come now, little lady, about how often have I transgressed against the rules of order in the two weeks that we have shared these rooms?”
“Perhaps twenty. I have kept no account; so can only guess at it.”
“Well, really!” he sighed, in mock despair, “I could not have believed I was quite so bad as that. But all the more need for reform; you must insist upon the fines, Milly. I can’t let you have so much trouble for nothing.”