Trina had become more niggardly than ever since the loss of McTeague's practice.

It was not mere economy with her now.

It was a panic terror lest a fraction of a cent of her little savings should be touched; a passionate eagerness to continue to save in spite of all that had happened.

Trina could have easily afforded better quarters than the single whitewashed room at the top of the flat, but she made McTeague believe that it was impossible.
"I can still save a little," she said to herself, after the room had been engaged; "perhaps almost as much as ever.

I'll have three hundred dollars pretty soon, and Mac thinks it's only two hundred.