Melinee was standing behind him. "Who are you calling?" He was shaken, but he managed to appear calm as he hung up. He even relaxed against the wall. "I was trying to get the real estate agent on the phone--these lights ought to be brighter--and I thought he could refer us to his electrician." "His what?" Melinee asked. "Elec--" He halted. "Never mind, honey. I'm beat--rough day. I need fried chicken." He hugged his trim, prim wife and they walked toward the kitchen arm in arm. But it was not until they settled at the table that he saw, under the bright electric light, that her hair was red, not blonde, and he immediately felt he'd been gypped. Her smirky little voice added to the shock. "Darling, don't call me Melinee when my name is Marsha. It just isn't done." * * * * * On purpose, Ernie spent an uneventful evening, arose the next morning, ignored his wife's red hair, conveniently forgot her name, avoided even checking to see if the door was there, and saved up a sneer for the telephone. During the day, his business life was perfect. He got the Jenkins account, lunched with the boss, and was asked to serve on the membership committee in the Chamber of Commerce drive. However, during the afternoon he developed a terrific headache and excused himself from the office long enough to see the company physician. The thin, foxy doctor handed him a pill and a glass of water. After Ernie had swallowed the pill politely, the physician leaned forward and gazed at his eyes and forehead. "Tell me, Lane--you're a newlywed, aren't you?" Ernie nodded. "Then why the worried frown? You seem to be carrying the Rock of Gibraltar on your shoulders. Is your job too much for you?" "Of course not," Ernie said, smiling. "I told you I had a headache." "Perhaps," the doctor said, smiling back. "You seemed to have been in something of a prepossessed state when you came in. I was just curious." Ernie laughed it off and at the doctor's request lay on a cot for a period of ten minutes. When he returned to the office, there was a request that he call a "Marsha." The sudden venomous thoughts of the evening before spun before his eyes. What the devil was going on with the woman? The new name, the new hair-do, the new smirk in her voice--that wasn't the woman he married. He grabbed the phone and called home. Twenty rings. No answer. It was a quarter of four when the switchboard notified him that his wife was on the line. "Hello, Ernie? This is Melinee. I'm at the Lee Hat Shop. Can you meet me in half an hour? I want to do some shopping and I thought we'd have supper and maybe see a movie." Melinee? It was all like a breath of spring. Away from that house, she was a different person. Happily, he agreed to buying her a new hat, supper and a ticket to Loew's State. For Melinee, anything. For Marsha, nothing.