tudes and disinclinations. For instance his very first morning at home, he had removed from various mantels, tables, and book-case tops throughout the house all her treasured photographs of him, taken in his uniform before he sailed for France, and had deposited them in the attic. The little service-pin she had worn with such sentiment for him, for a whole year, he had frowned upon, and asked her to take off. The sacred symbol to her of his heroism—the French war-cross, which she had tremblingly asked to see and hold for an exalted moment in the palm of her own hand, she was dismayed to discover he produced from a corner of his suit-case. He had tossed it to her carelessly as if it was so much common metal, and asked her not to make a fuss over it.
His attitude about his uniform was incomprehensible. He had explained briefly that he had obtained some sort of special permission to wear citizen's clothes, if he preferred to, and evidently he did prefer to. On his second morning at home he had appeared at the breakfast-table, in an old golf-suit, and a shabby flannel shirt; that evening in a blue serge, smelling of camphor-balls; and thereafter Mrs. Hollister saw no more trace of Vincent's uniform than as if he had never worn one.
