zestful interest in life.  She shared with Miss Polly and Archibald, and any chance object that attracted his attention for an instant, the redundant vitality of his inquiring spirit.  “No wonder he has worked his way up with all that energy,” she reflected.  “No wonder he has made money.”  His face, with its clear ruddiness, was the face of a man who has breathed strong winds and tasted the sharp tang of sage and pine; and she noticed again that his deep gray eyes had the unwavering look of eyes that have watched wide horizons of sea or desert.  There was no suggestion of the city about him, though his clothes were well cut, and she was quick to observe, followed the latest styles of Fifth Avenue.  “Yes, he is good looking,” she admitted reluctantly.  “There is no question about that, and he has personality, too—­of a kind.”  His hat was in his hand—­a soft hat of greenish-gray felt—­and her eye rested for a moment on his uncovered head with its thick waves of red hair, a little disordered as if a high wind had roughened them.  “If he only had breeding or education, he might be really worth while,” she added, almost approvingly.

When he spoke again O’Hara ignored Gabriella, and turned his alert questioning glance on the little seamstress.  Fanny had sauntered up the walk to join the group—­Fanny in all the glory of her yellow curls, and her “debutante slouch “—­and he bowed gravely to her without the faintest change of expression.  If he admired Fanny’s beauty and pitied Miss Polly’s plainness, there was no hint of it in the indifferent look he turned from the girl to the old woman.

“The next time you’re planting things,” he said earnestly, “I wish you’d set out a red geranium.  I saw a cart of ’em go by in the street this morning and I had half a mind to buy a pot or two for the yard.  If I get some, will you put ’em out?”

“Why, of course, I will.  I’ll be real glad to,” responded Miss Polly, agreeably flattered by his request.  “Is there any special place you want me to plant them?”

“Anywhere I can see ’em from the window.  I’d like to look at ’em while I eat my breakfast.  And while we are about it, wouldn’t it be just as well to set out a whole bed of ’em?” he asked with a munificent gesture which included in one comprehensive sweep the weeds, the walk, the elm tree, the blossoming rose-bush, and the freshly turned flower-borders.  The large free movement of his arm expressed a splendid scorn of small things, of little makeshifts, of subterfuges and evasions.

“Don’t you think it would cut up the yard too much to make another bed?” asked Gabriella, inspired by the whimsical demon of opposition.  It was true that she had no particular fondness for red geraniums; but if Miss Polly had expressed, on her own account, a desire to plant the street with them, she would never have thought of objecting.