The Pride of Eve by Warwick Deeping

The Fernhill breakfast table was very characteristic of the Canterton _ménage_.

Gertrude Canterton came down ten minutes after the gong had sounded, bustling into the room with every sign of starting the day in a rush. Her hair looked messy, with untidy strands at the back of her neck. She wore any old dress that happened to come to hand, and as often as not she had a piece of tape hanging out, or a hook and eye unfastened. Breakfast time was not her hour. She looked yellow, and thin, and voracious, and her hands began fidgeting at once with the pile of letters and circulars beside her plate.