He kept us awake until far into the night with his jibes and his laughter.
"Well," he said lastly, "good-night, girls. I'm about sick of you, and in the morning we part company...."
At the break of dawn he waked us from heavy sleep—me with a cuff, the groom with a kick, the bride with a feline touch upon the hair.
"And now," said he, "be off."
He caught the bride by the shoulder.
"Not you," he said.
"I am to stay?" she asked, as if to settle some trivial and unimportant point.
"Do you ask?" said he; "Was man meant to live alone? This will be enough home for us." And he turned to the groom. "Get," he said savagely.
"Mr. Farallone," said the bride—she was very white, but calm, apparently, and collected—"you have had your joke. Let us go now, or better, come with us. We will forget our former differences, and you will never regret your future kindnesses."
"Don't you want to stay?" exclaimed Farallone in a tone of astonishment.