The other passengers were equally downcast. Meanwhile the two lovers in the corridor were kissing good-byes as if they were hoping to store up honey enough to sustain their hearts for a three years' fast. And the porter was studying them with perplexity.
He was used, however, to waking people out of dreamland, and he began to fear that if he were discovered spying on the lovers, he might suffer. So he coughed discreetly three or four times.
Since the increasing racket of the train made no effect on the two hearts beating as one, the small matter of a cough was as nothing.
Finally the porter was compelled to reach forward and tap Mallory's arm, and stutter:
"'Scuse me, but co-could I git b-by?"
The embrace was untied, and the lovers stared at him with a dazed, where-am-I? look. Marjorie was the first to realize what awakened them. She felt called upon to say something, so she said, as carelessly as if she had not just emerged from a young gentleman's arms:
"Oh, porter, how long before the train starts?"
"Train's done started, Missy."
This simple statement struck the wool from her eyes and the cotton from her ears, and she was wide enough awake when she cried: "Oh, stop it—stop it!"
"That's mo'n I can do, Missy," the porter expostulated.