"I can never do it, Turner," he said as she entered. "What's to be done?"
Turner replied that she did not know; her mistress's instructions were that he should catch the train.
"I'll have to leave behind what I can't get in," he said despondently. "I generally have to do so. I tell the hotel people to give it to widows and orphans. But that's one of the things that make traveling so expensive."
"But you brought everything, sir, in this luggage?"
"I suppose so. Wiggleswick packed. It's his professional training, Turner. I think they call it 'stowing the swag.'"
As Turner had not heard of Wiggleswick's profession, she did not catch the allusion. Nor did Zora enlighten her when she reported the conversation.
"If they went in once they'll go in again," said Turner.
"They won't. They never do," said Septimus.
His plight was so hopeless, he seemed so immeasurably her sex's inferior, that he awoke her contemptuous pity. Besides, her trained woman's hands itched to restore order out of masculine chaos.
"Turn everything out and I'll pack for you," she said resolutely, regardless of the proprieties. On further investigation she held out horrified hands.