Under this steady percussion and repercussion, Janet finally woke up. "What’s the matter?" she murmured drowsily, pushing the rebellious dark curls from her face. Claude bombarded her with reproaches. "The matter! The matter is that you have the nerves of a rhinoceros. I can’t sleep with the windows open, while you could sleep with them shut. But it means nothing to you that I haven’t slept a wink for seven nights running, just because you insist upon keeping the windows open." (Janet’s hands gestured: "Oh dear, another tempest in a teapot!") She sat up in bed and, with her feet tucked under her and her hands folded over her knees, braced herself for the storm. "I thought we agreed to compromise by changing off," she said mildly. "The windows have only been kept open every other night." "Compromise! Compromise!" He sprang from his chair with a violent laugh. "How can oil and water compromise?" "I’m sure I don’t know. I’m not a chemist. They don’t mix, but they may get along very amicably together side by side, for all I can tell. What difference does it make, anyway? The real trouble is that you’ve been made nervous and irritable by your father’s letters. If you’d only let us talk the whole matter over sensibly and in good humor—" "My father’s letters have nothing to do with the case," he cut in savagely. "The trouble is with your idiotic superstition that the sooty, dusty air from the street is more important than peace and quiet." "What is the use of saying the same thing over and over," said Janet, with a touch of asperity in her clear, soft tones. "You are in a perfectly childish temper, Claude. If I were your wife I’d have to put up with it. As I don’t have to, I won’t." "My wife! If you were my wife, you wouldn’t dare to be so selfish, or to ignore my rights so shamelessly." "Luckily, I’m _not_ your wife." "No, thank Heaven. It’s also lucky that you’re so well satisfied with your limitations and your sorry future. Like all the Barrs of Brooklyn, you may well glory in your irresponsibility. It’s all you have." "Oh, I have my freedom. I glory in that, too. If I were married to you, I dare say I should have to cringe and even ask your forgiveness. As it is, before this day is over, you will probably ask mine." "Don’t flatter yourself! I’m going for good. That’ll spike your prophecy." He began to dress posthaste in order to put time and space between his threat and its retraction. Janet watched him through the long dark lashes of her half-closed gray eyes. He was spoilt, tyrannical, contemptible. Yet his energetic masculine beauty and the seductive ring of his voice still had power over her.