Only once again did Trina undergo a reaction against her husband, and then it was but the matter of an instant, brought on, curiously enough, by the sight of a bit of egg on McTeague's heavy mustache one morning just after breakfast.
Then, too, the pair had learned to make concessions, little by little, and all unconsciously they adapted their modes of life to suit each other.

Instead of sinking to McTeague's level as she had feared, Trina found that she could make McTeague rise to hers, and in this saw a solution of many a difficult and gloomy complication.
For one thing, the dentist began to dress a little better, Trina even succeeding in inducing him to wear a high silk hat and a frock coat of a Sunday.

Next he relinquished his Sunday afternoon's nap and beer in favor of three or four hours spent in the park with her--the weather permitting.

So that gradually Trina's misgivings ceased, or when they did assail her, she could at last meet them with a shrug of the shoulders, saying to herself meanwhile, "Well, it's done now and it can't be helped; one must make the best of it." During the first months of their married life these nervous relapses of hers had alternated with brusque outbursts of affection when her only fear was that her husband's love did not equal her own.

Without an instant's warning, she would clasp him about the neck, rubbing her cheek against his, murmuring: "Dear old Mac, I love you so, I love you so.