Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. Sheila, a normally sound sleeper, woke one night to find both her husband and her foster daughter had snuck from their beds, and this infuriated her. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. By this time, he had apparently accomplished all he desired; for moving the bottle out of Jack's reach, he appropriated it entirely to his own use, leaving the devoted lad to the care of the females.
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