Trina, meanwhile, busied herself about the suite, clearing away the breakfast, sponging off the oilcloth table-spread, making the bed, pottering about with a broom or duster or cleaning rag.  Towards ten o’clock she opened the windows to air the rooms, then put on her drab jacket, her little round turban with its red wing, took the butcher’s and grocer’s books from the knife basket in the drawer of the kitchen table, and descended to the street, where she spent a delicious hour—­now in the huge market across the way, now in the grocer’s store with its fragrant aroma of coffee and spices, and now before the counters of the haberdasher’s, intent on a bit of shopping, turning over ends of veiling, strips of elastic, or slivers of whalebone.  On the street she rubbed elbows with the great ladies of the avenue in their beautiful dresses, or at intervals she met an acquaintance or two—­Miss Baker, or Heise’s lame wife, or Mrs. Ryer.  At times she passed the flat and looked up at the windows of her home, marked by the huge golden molar that projected, flashing, from the bay window of the “Parlors.”  She saw the open windows of the sitting-room, the Nottingham lace curtains stirring and billowing in the draft, and she caught sight of Maria Macapa’s towelled head as the Mexican maid-of-all-work went to and fro in the suite, sweeping or carrying away the ashes.  Occasionally in the windows of the “Parlors” she beheld McTeague’s rounded back as he bent to his work.  Sometimes, even, they saw each other and waved their hands gayly in recognition.

By eleven o’clock Trina returned to the flat, her brown net reticule—­once her mother’s—­full of parcels.  At once she set about getting lunch—­sausages, perhaps, with mashed potatoes; or last evening’s joint warmed over or made into a stew; chocolate, which Trina adored, and a side dish or two—­a salted herring or a couple of artichokes or a salad.  At half-past twelve the dentist came in from the “Parlors,” bringing with him the smell of creosote and of ether.  They sat down to lunch in the sitting-room.  They told each other of their doings throughout the forenoon; Trina showed her purchases, McTeague recounted the progress of an operation.  At one o’clock they separated, the dentist returning to the “Parlors,” Trina settling to her work on the Noah’s ark animals.  At about three o’clock she put this work away, and for the rest of the afternoon was variously occupied—­sometimes it was the mending, sometimes the wash, sometimes new curtains to be put up, or a bit of carpet to be tacked down, or a letter to be written, or a visit—­generally to Miss Baker—­to be returned.  Towards five o’clock the old woman whom they had hired for that purpose came to cook supper, for even Trina was not equal to the task of preparing three meals a day.