He stood and stared at it; but his thoughts were elsewhere: he found himself trying to call to mind Polly's face.

Except for a pair of big black eyes--magnificent eyes they seemed to him in retrospect--he had carried away with him nothing of her outward appearance.

Yes, stay!--her hair: her hair was so glossy that, when the sun caught it, high lights came out on it--so much he remembered.

From this he fell to wondering whether her brain kept pace with her nimble hands and ways.
Was she stupid or clever?
He could not tolerate stupidity.

And Polly had given him no chance to judge her; had hardly opened her lips before him.