Mrs. Hutter bustled in from the kitchen, where manifestly she had been importantly engaged.  “For the land’s sakes!” she exclaimed, fervently, as she threw up her hands at sight of Carley.  Her expression was indeed a compliment, but there was a suggestion of shock in it.  Then Flo came in.  She wore a simple gray gown that reached the top of her high shoes.

“Carley, don’t mind mother,” said Flo.  “She means your dress is lovely.  Which is my say, too. . . .  But, listen.  I just saw Glenn comin’ up the road.”

Carley ran to the open door with more haste than dignity.  She saw a tall man striding along.  Something about him appeared familiar.  It was his walk—­an erect swift carriage, with a swing of the march still visible.  She recognized Glenn.  And all within her seemed to become unstable.  She watched him cross the road, face the house.  How changed!  No—­this was not Glenn Kilbourne.  This was a bronzed man, wide of shoulder, roughly garbed, heavy limbed, quite different from the Glenn she remembered.  He mounted the porch steps.  And Carley, still unseen herself, saw his face.  Yes—­Glenn!  Hot blood seemed to be tingling liberated in her veins.  Wheeling away, she backed against the wall behind the door and held up a warning finger to Flo, who stood nearest.  Strange and disturbing then, to see something in Flo Hutter’s eyes that could be read by a woman in only one way!

A tall form darkened the doorway.  It strode in and halted.

“Flo!—­who—­where?” he began, breathlessly.

His voice, so well remembered, yet deeper, huskier, fell upon Carley’s ears as something unconsciously longed for.  His frame had so filled out that she did not recognize it.  His face, too, had unbelievably changed—­not in the regularity of feature that had been its chief charm, but in contour of cheek and vanishing of pallid hue and tragic line.  Carley’s heart swelled with joy.  Beyond all else she had hoped to see the sad fixed hopelessness, the havoc, gone from his face.  Therefore the restraint and nonchalance upon which Carley prided herself sustained eclipse.

“Glenn!  Look—­who’s—­here!” she called, in voice she could not have steadied to save her life.  This meeting was more than she had anticipated.

Glenn whirled with an inarticulate cry.  He saw Carley.  Then—­no matter how unreasonable or exacting had been Carley’s longings, they were satisfied.

“You!” he cried, and leaped at her with radiant face.

Carley not only did not care about the spectators of this meeting, but forgot them utterly.  More than the joy of seeing Glenn, more than the all-satisfying assurance to her woman’s heart that she was still beloved, welled up a deep, strange, profound something that shook her to her depths.  It was beyond selfishness.  It was gratitude to God and to the West that had restored him.

“Carley!  I couldn’t believe it was you,” he declared, releasing her from his close embrace, yet still holding her.