seven o'clock in the morning
She would have her breakfast in bed ! She telephoned for it , languidly . But when it came she got up and ate it from the table , after all . Terry was the kind of woman to whom a pink gingham all-over apron , and a pink dust-cap are ravishingly becoming at seven o'clock in the morning . That sort of woman congenitally can not enjoy her breakfast in bed . That morning she found a fairly comfortable room , more within her means , on the north side in the boarding house district . She unpacked and hung up her clothes and drifted down town again , idly .