Claire grimaced, then nodded with an air of determination.
“I’ll buy a machine! There can be no objection to that. You would prefer good coffee, wouldn’t you, if you could get it without any more trouble?”
“Oh, certainly. I’ll enjoy it—while it lasts!”
“Why shouldn’t it last?”
Miss Rhodes stared across at the eager young face. She looked tired, and a trifle impatient.
“Oh, my dear girl, you’re New. We are all the same at first—bubbling over with energy, and determined to arrange everything exactly as we like. It’s a phase which we all live through. Afterwards you don’t care. You are too tired to worry. All your energy goes on your day’s work, and you are too thankful for peace and quietness to bother about details. You take what comes, and are thankful it’s not worse.”
Claire’s smile showed an elaborate forbearance.
“Rather a poor-spirited attitude, don’t you think?”
“Wait and see!” said the English mistress.
She rose and threw herself in a chair by the window, and Claire left the despised coffee and followed her example. Through the half-opened panes she looked out on a row of brick houses depressingly dingy, depressingly alike. About every second house showed a small black card on which the word “Apartments” was printed in gilt letters. Down the middle of the street came a fruiterer’s cart, piled high with wicker baskets. The cry of “Bananas, cheap bananas,” floated raucously on the air. Claire swiftly averted her eyes and turned back to her companion.