"I couldn't sleep. How could I, after last night?"
What a fool he had been, he thought. Raving of love and marriage at the café, then proposing marriage to Fifi. If Snogger and Bubb and Bowdy knew all that had happened last night, what would they say? They would never cease twitting him. And Fifi. What was she thinking of now? Of the affair at the window, probably. He looked up at her. Her eyelids dropped, but behind this shyness there was something impetuous and passionate in the whole of her personality. And he had kissed her last night. He had pressed those lips in one great kiss. But now she seemed very far removed from him. And the souvenirs. The request of the night before seemed so unworthy of the girl.
"You couldn't sleep last night," said Fifi. "Why not?"
"I was thinking of you, of all that took place."
"But you were drunk?"
"I was not. I remember all that happened. I have gathered up a lot of souvenirs for you."
"I don't want any," said the girl. "I was only joking."
"But you must."
"No, no. Have some coffee. Who are you writing to?" she asked.
"Nobody," said Fitzgerald. "It's part of a diary."