CHAPTER IV
HEARTS AFLAME
They rose the next morning and dressed in the room without fire, shivering now as they drew on their stockings, frozen stiff. They had their morning coffee in a chilly room downstairs, where sometimes their slatternly landlady appeared, lugubriously voluble. This morning they ate alone, in silence, and none too happily. Even Annie's buoyant spirits seemed inadequate. A trace of bitterness was in her tone when she spoke.
"I'm sick of it."
"Yes, Annie," said Mary Warren. "And it's cold this morning, awfully."
"Cotton vests, marked down—to what wool used to be. Huh! Call this America?"
"What's wrong, Annie?" suddenly asked Mary Warren, drawing her wrap closer as she sat.
"I'd go to the lake before I'd go to the streets, though you mightn't think it. But how about it with only the discards in Derby hats and false teeth left? If we two are going to get married, Mollie, we got to look around among the remnants and bargains—we can't be too particular when we're hunting bargains. Whether it's all off for you at the store or not ain't for me to say, but you might do worse than listen to me."
Mary Warren looked at her in a sort of horror. "Annie, what do you mean?" she demanded.