Trina could scarcely address her a
simple direction without Augustine quailing and shrinking; a reproof,
however gentle, threw her into an agony of confusion; while Trina's
anger promptly reduced her to a state of nervous collapse, wherein she
lost all power of speech, while her head began to bob and nod with an
incontrollable twitching of the muscles, much like the oscillations
of the head of a toy donkey. Her timidity was exasperating, her very
presence in the room unstrung the nerves, while her morbid eagerness
to avoid offence only served to develop in her a clumsiness that was at
times beyond belief. More than once Trina had decided that she could no
longer put up with Augustine but each time she had retained her as she
reflected upon her admirably cooked cabbage soups and tapioca puddings,
and--which in Trina's eyes was her chiefest recommendation--the pittance
for which she was contented to work.
Augustine had a husband. He was a spirit-medium--a "professor." At times
he held seances in the larger rooms of the flat, playing vigorously upon
a mouth-organ and invoking a familiar whom he called "Edna," and whom he
asserted was an Indian maiden.
The evening was a period of relaxation for Trina and McTeague.
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