And now Mrs. Temple intervened. She had enjoyed the initiation ceremony as well as anyone. But when the little bride began to cry, she remembered the pitiful terror and shy shame she had undergone as a girl-wife, and she hastened to Marjorie's side, brushing the men away like gnats.
"You poor thing," she comforted. "Come, my child, lean on me, and have a good cry."
Hudson grinned, and put out his own arms: "She can lean on me, if she'd rather."
Mrs. Temple glanced up with indignant rebuke: "Her mother is far away, and she wants a mother's breast to weep on. Here's mine, my dear."
The impudent Shaw tapped his own military chest: "She can use mine."
Infuriated at this bride-baiting, Mallory rose and confronted the two imps with clenched fists: "You're a pretty pair of friends, you are!"
The imperturbable Shaw put out a pair of tickets as his only defence: "Here are your tickets, old boy."
And Hudson roared jovially: "We tried to get you a stateroom, but it was gone."
"And here are your baggage checks," laughed Shaw, forcing into his fists a few pasteboards. "We got your trunks on the train ahead, all right. Don't mention it—you're entirely welcome."
It was the porter that brought the first relief from the ordeal.