She flung back the covers to let her bed air during the day, and righted the flagrant disorder in her room with a few effective movements. As she opened her closet door or bureau drawers, the scrupulous neatness of their contents pleased her; the row of dresses in the closet suggested the orderliness of a company of soldiers; her shoes and slippers, each pair equipped punctiliously with boot-trees, ranged themselves on a shelf in effective array, her lingerie was carefully be-ribboned, folded in piles, and a scent of sachet arose from its lacy whiteness.
As she busied herself she came upon a muss of face powder that had been spilled upon the glass top of her bureau. A small sound of annoyance escaped her. She crossed the hall to the bathroom, returned with the moistened end of a soiled towel, resurrected from the laundry basket, and wiped up the offending litter vigorously.
About to quit the room she paused a moment with her hand on the door-knob for a final inspection, and turned back to make sure the lower bureau drawer was locked and that she had put the key in its hiding place under the rug; she raised the window an inch higher; a white thread on the floor attracted her eye and she picked it up with thumb and finger to deposit in the waste-basket before she joined Beatrice Alexander in the dining-room. A glance at her wrist watch assured her she was on time to the minute.
“Morning, Beat,” she said saluting her companion. “What was the matter with Mitzi this morning?”
“I let her out early; she was clawing the carpet and growling. She wouldn’t stop, so I just had to get up and put her out.”
“Strange,” commented Jeannette, eyeing the cat who blinked at her comfortably from beside an empty soup plate that had held her bread and milk. She began to talk baby talk to the pet:
“Mitzi-witzi! Yes, oo was,—oo went out to see a feller,—ess oo did....”
The two women sat down to the breakfast table together. Jeannette spread her World out before her; Beatrice propped the Times against a water pitcher. They picked at their fruit, raised egg spoons to their lips delicately, broke off bits of toast and inserted them in their mouths, sipped their coffee with little fingers extended. Silence reigned except for the small noises of cup and spoon, and the crackle of newspapers.
“I do think France ought to be more lenient with Germany,” Beatrice remarked at length, adjusting her eye-glasses.
“I’d make her pay to the last mark she’s got,” asserted Jeannette. She folded back her newspaper carefully to another page.