“Yes,” I said, with a disgusted groan. Really the whole thing was becoming too ridiculous. All along I had been irritated at her jealousy, the more so as there had been certain grounds for it. It had been the only fault I had found with her, and often I had been stung to the point of protest. Now all my pent-up resentment surged to the surface.
“Oh, please, darleen, excuse me; please say you won’t go. Stay wiz your leetle wife, darleen.”
“I’ve got to go; it’s important.”
“Promise me zen you shall see her for the last time. Promise me you’ll say good-bye.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“You love her?”
“Ye—es. I love her.”
My mind was made up. There is no cure for jealousy like ridicule. It would be a little hard, but I would keep the thing up for another day. I would let matters come to a climax, then I would triumphantly drive round on my little voiturette and say, pointing to the blue and gold name plate:
“There! Allow me to introduce to you ‘Little Mignonne.’”
The whirl of the alarm-clock put an end to my efforts to get some sleep, so up I sprang in by no means the best of tempers. My examination at nine, and I had had a wretched night.