But Minna was flushing as she spoke. The flush dissipated and she drew up her chin when Stransky, looking around, recognized her with a merry, confident wave of his hand.
"See, he's a captain and he wears an iron cross!" said Marta as Stransky hastened toward them.
"He acts like it!" assented Minna grudgingly.
Eager, leviathan, his cap doffed with a sweeping gesture as he made a low bow, Stransky was the very spirit of retributive victory returning to claim the ground that he had lost.
"Well, this is like getting home again!" he cried.
"So I see!" said Minna equivocally.
Stransky drew his eyes together, sighting them on the bridge of his nose thoughtfully at this dubious reception.
"I came back for the chance to kiss a good woman's hand," he observed with a profound awkwardness and looking at Minna's hand. "Your hand!" he added, the cast in his eyes straightening as he looked directly at her appealingly.
She extended her finger-tips and he pressed his lips to them. Then she drew back a step, a trifle pale, her eyes sad and questioning, more than ever Madonna-like, and curled her arm around little Clarissa Eileen, who had stolen to her mother's side.
"What is that?" asked Clarissa Eileen, pointing to the cross on Stransky's breast.