A couple of hours before the train started she dispatched Turner to
Septimus's hotel to remind him of the journey. Turner, a strong-minded
woman of forty--like the oyster she had been crossed in love and like her
mistress she held men in high contempt--returned with an indignant tale.
After a series of parleyings with Mr. Dix through the medium of the hotel
_chasseur_, who had a confused comprehension of voluble English, she had
mounted at Mr. Dix's entreaty to his room. There she found him, half clad
and in his dressing-gown, staring helplessly at a wilderness of clothing
and toilet articles for which there was no space in his suit cases and bag,
already piled mountain high.

"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.