Kedzie Thropp, who had dome to New York only a few months before, had done one more impulsive thing. First she had run away from her parents. Now she had run away from herself. She had loved New York first. Now she was infatuated with Tommie Gilfoyle. He was as complex and mysterious a city as Manhattan. She would be as long in reaching the heart of him. There had been no bridesmaids to give the scene social grace, no music or flowers to give it poetry, no minister to give it an odor of sanctity. It was marriage in its cold, business-like actuality, without hypnotism, superstition, or false pretense. Small wonder that Kedzie had hardly left the marriage-room before she felt that she was not married at all. The vaccination had not taken. She was not one with Gilfoyle. And yet she must pretend that she was. She must act as if they were one soul, one flesh; must share his tenement, his food, his joys and anxieties. Of these last there promised to be no famine. Gilfoyle was in a panic about his office. He told Kedzie to devote the morning to looking up some place to live. He would join her at luncheon. He fidgeted while they waited for the elevator, Kedzie staring at her ring with the same curious smile as the other girl. CHAPTER III They rode up-town in a Subway express to Forty-second Street. Their first business treaty had to be drawn up in the crowd. “How much do you want to pay for the flat, honey?” said Kedzie. Gilfoyle was startled. Already the money-snake was in their Eden. And she asked him how much he “wanted” to pay! It was only a form of speech, but it grated on him. “I haven't time to figure it out,” he fretted. “I get twenty-five dollars a week--darling. That's a hundred a month--dear.” His pet names came afterward, mere trailers. “Out of that we've got to get something to eat and to wear, and there'll be street-car fare to pay and--tooth-powder to buy, and we'll want something for theater tickets, and--” He was aghast; at the multitude of things married people need. He added, “And we ought to save a little, I suppose.” “I suppose so,” said Kedzie, who was as much taken aback by the mention of economy at such a time as he was by the mention of expenditure. But she rose bravely to the responsibility: “I'll do the best I can, and we'll be so cozy--ooh!” Kedzie was used to small figures. He put into her hand all the cash he had with him, which was all he had on earth--forty-two dollars. He borrowed back the two dollars. Kedzie had her own money, about forty more dollars. This, with twenty-five dollars a week, seemed big; enough to her to keep them in luxury. They parted at the Grand Central Terminal with looks of devoted agony. She set out at once to look at flats and to visit furniture-stores. She bought a _Herald_ and read the numberless advertisements. Something was the matter everywhere. She had gone far and found nothing but discouragement when the luncheon hour arrived.