THE next two months were delightful. Trina and McTeague saw each other regularly, three times a week. The dentist went over to B Street Sunday and Wednesday afternoons as usual; but on Fridays it was Trina who came to the city. She spent the morning between nine and twelve o'clock down town, for the most part in the cheap department stores, doing the weekly shopping for herself and the family. At noon she took an uptown car and met McTeague at the corner of Polk Street. The two lunched together at a small uptown hotel just around the corner on Sutter Street. They were given a little room to themselves. Nothing could have been more delicious. They had but to close the sliding door to shut themselves off from the whole world.
Trina would arrive breathless from her raids upon the bargain counters, her pale cheeks flushed, her hair blown about her face and into the corners of her lips, her mother's net reticule stuffed to bursting. Once in their tiny private room, she would drop into her chair with a little groan.
'Oh, Mac, I am so tired; I've just been all over town. Oh, it's good to sit down. Just think, I had to stand up in the car all the way, after being on my feet the whole blessed morning. Look here what I've bought. Just things and things. Look, there's some dotted veiling I got for myself; see now, do you think it looks pretty?' --she spread it over her face--'and I got a box of writing paper, and a roll of crépe paper to make a lamp shade for the front parlor; and-- what do you suppose--I saw a pair of Nottingham lace curtains for forty-nine cents; isn't that cheap? and some chenille portieres for two and a half. Now what have you been doing since I last saw you? Did Mr Heise finally get up enough courage to have his tooth pulled yet?' Trina took off her hat and veil and rearranged her hair before the looking-glass.