It was Tavia!

"Oh, hello--Tavia. I was so afraid----"

"You don't look it. I fancied I saw you sizing up that piece of
architecture at the door. Gothic; isn't it?" and Tavia fell into the
chair Dorothy had emptied for her. The "piece of architecture" took
the sofa at the end of the car, and she appeared to need every bit of
it for her hat, and other pieces of luggage.

"Funny how the porters always like that sort of thing," remarked
Dorothy. "I don't believe they ever get a cent for it, either."

"But look at the glory," said Tavia. "Every eye in the car is on that
sofa. My gaze is simply crowded out. Let's want something. Oh, yes. I
have lost my--'Porter!'" called Tavia sweetly, at the same time
touching the button at the window. The man in the brass-buttoned
uniform turned promptly. "I have lost my hand bag," said Tavia. "I
surely had it when I entered."

Persons in several seats around disturbed themselves. Dorothy's face
flushed. How absurd Tavia was to make that confusion, just for fun.

Every time Tavia stooped to look under the seat, or about it, she
would pinch Dorothy, which act did not add to the latter's comfort.

"Oh, I have it," exclaimed the wily one. "Thank you so much," and she
smiled clear up and down the aisle. "I was sure I had it," and taking
her seat, she managed, in the most conspicuously discreet way, to slip