Mallory nodded, and turned to Marjorie, with a sad, "Good night, darling."
The porter rolled his eyes again, and turned away, only to be recalled by Marjorie's voice: "Porter, take this old handbag out of here."
The porter thought of the vanquished Lathrop, exiled to the smoking room, and he answered: "That belongs to the gemman what owns this berth."
"Put it in number one," Marjorie commanded, with a queenly gesture.
The porter obeyed meekly, wondering what would happen next. He had no sooner deposited Lathrop's valise among the incongruous white ribbons, than Marjorie recalled him to say: "And, Porter, you may bring me my own baggage."
"Yo' what—missus?"
"Our handbags, idiot," Mallory explained, peevishly.
"I ain't seen no handbags of you-alls," the porter protested. "You-all didn't have no handbags when you got on this cah."
Mallory jumped as if he had been shot. "Good Lord, I remember! We left 'em in the taxicab!"
The porter cast his hands up, and walked away from the tragedy. Marjorie stared at Mallory in horror.