“We’re on leave.” Norma swallowed hard, then threw her shoulders back. “Saturday afternoon and Sunday we can wear what we please. And—and Major,” she stammered, “I don’t know why Rosa did it. I—I think the plane charmed her.”
“Charmed her! Hmm! Now let’s see.”
“She’s one of the best little WACs in our squadron,” said Norma, half in despair.
“And are you the squadron’s leader?”
“No, but I drill the entire company. And that’s not all!” Norma exclaimed, gathering courage from the major’s smiling eyes. “I’m the daughter of Major John M. Kent, who fought in the World War—”
“John M. Kent!” The major studied her face. “You do look like him. You’ve got his eyes.”
“Then you know him?” Norma exclaimed.
“Quite well. He’s a splendid man.”
“His eyes are not all I have,” said Norma. “I have his picture.” She fumbled in her billfold.
“Here—here it is.”