She remembered Newport, the Noxon home. She tried to picture a bedroom there. She saw a palace of the best moving-picture period. She remembered the first moving picture she had seen in New York, and contrasted the Anita Adair of that adventure with the Anita Adair of this. She recalled that girl locking her door against the swell husband, and the poor but honest lover with the revolver. Kedzie wished she had locked her own door--only there was no door, merely a shoddy portiere, for there was not room to open a door. Her old ambitions came back to her. She had planned to know rich people and rebuke their wicked wiles. One rich man had held her in his arms, lifted her out of the pool. It was no less a man than Jim Dyckman, and she had repulsed him. She caught a glimpse of her own tousled head in the mirror, and she sneered at it. “You darn fool--oh, you darn fool!” At last the parrot woke Gilfoyle. He snorted, bored his fists into his eyes, yawned, scratched his head, stared at the unusual furniture, flounced over, saw his mate, stared again, grinned, said: “Why, hello, Anita!” He put out his hand to her. She wiggled away; he followed. She slid to the floor and gasped: “Don't touch me!” “Why, what's the matter, honey?” “Huh! What isn't the matter?” He fumbled under the pillow for his watch, looked at it, yawned: “Lord, it's only five o'clock. Good _night_!” He disposed himself for sleep again. The parrot broke out in another horrible Ha-ha! He sat up with an oath. “I'd like to murder the beast.” “Don't! I'm much obliged to it.” “Obliged to it? You must be crazy. Good Lord! hear it scream.” “Well, ain't life a scream?” Gilfoyle was a graceless sleeper and a surly waker. He forgot that he was a bridegroom. He sniffed, yawned, flopped, buried one ear in the pillow and pulled the cover over the other and almost instantly slept. His head on the pillow looked like some ugly, shaggy vegetable. Kedzie wanted to uproot the object and throw it out of the window, out of her life. That was the head of her husband, the lord and master of her dreams! Dainty-minded couples have separate bedrooms. Ordinary people accept the homely phases of coexistence as inevitable and therefore unimportant. They grow to enjoy the intimacy: they give and take informality as one of the comforts of a home. They see frowsy hair and unshaven cheeks and yawns as a homely, wholesome part of life and make a pleasant indolence of them. But Kedzie was in an unreasoning mood. She had hoped for unreasonable delights. Marriage had been a goal beyond the horizon, at the base of the rainbow. She had reached it. The girl Kedzie was no more. She was a wife. Kedzie Thropp and Anita Adair were now Mrs. Thomas Gilfoyle. Her soul cried out: “This is my honeymoon! I am married, married forever to that tousle-headed, bristle-jawed, brainless, heartless dub. I won't stand for it. I won't! I won't!”