* * * * *

When he alighted from the plane he thrust his left hand into his blouse pocket.  He always carried it there, as if it were literally sewn in place.  In moments of emotion the scarred nerves would twitch as the telltale of his sensitiveness; and this was something he would conceal from others no matter how conscious he was of it himself.  He found the Galland veranda deserted.  In response to his ring a maid came to the open door.  Her face was sad, with a beauty that had prematurely faded.  But it lighted pleasurably in recognition.  Her hair was thick and tawny, lying low over the brow; her eyes were a softly luminous brown and her full lips sensitive and yielding.  Lanstron, an intimate of the Galland household, knew her story well and the part that Marta had played in it.

Some four years previously, when a baby was in prospect for Minna, who wore no wedding-ring, Mrs. Galland had been inclined to send the maid to an institution, “where they will take good care of her, my dear.  That’s what such institutions are for.  It is quite scandalous for her and for us—­never happened in our family before!”

Marta arched her eyebrows.

“We don’t know!” she exclaimed softly.

“How can you think such a thing, let alone saying it—­you, a Galland!” her mother gasped in indignation.

“That is, if we go far back,” said Marta.  “At all events, we have no precedent, so let’s establish one by keeping her.”

“But for her own sake!  She will have to live with her shame!” Mrs. Galland objected.  “Let her begin afresh in the city.  We shall give her a good recommendation, for she is really an excellent servant.  Yes, she will readily find a place among strangers.”

“Still, she doesn’t want to go, and it would be cruel to send her away.”

“Cruel!  Why, Marta, do you think I would be cruel?  Oh, very well, then we will let her stay!”

* * * * *

“Both are away at church.  Mrs. Galland ought to be here any minute, but Miss Galland will be later because of her children’s class,” said Minna.  “Will you wait on the veranda?”

He was saying that he would stroll in the garden when childish footsteps were heard in the hall, and after a curly head had nestled against the mother’s skirts its owner, reminded of the importance of manners in the world where the stork had left her, made a curtsey.  Lanstron shook a small hand which must have lately been on intimate terms with sugar or jam.

“How do you do, flying soldier man?” chirruped Clarissa Eileen.  It was evident that she held Lanstron in high favor.

“Let me hear you say your name,” said Lanstron.

Clarissa Eileen was triumphant.  She had been waiting for days with the revelation when he should make that old request.  Now she enunciated it with every vowel and consonant correctly and primly uttered; indeed, she repeated it four or five times in proof of complete mastery.