"He was on the steps when she set out for school this mornin', an' he didn't notice her any more than he did me.

Fanny ain't the sort he takes notice of, I could see that in a minute." "Then he must be blind." There was a resentful sound in Gabriella's voice.

"It embarrasses me when I get on a street car with her because the men stare so." "Well, he didn't stare.

But it's a mighty good thing that all men haven't got the same kind of eyes, ain't it?
What I could never make out was why men ever marry women who haven't got curly hair, an' yet they do it every day--they go right straight out an' do it with their wits about 'em." The front door opened suddenly, and the man came out again, and, descended the walk with the springy step Gabriella had noticed at their first meeting.

Notwithstanding his size, he moved with the lightness and agility of a boy, and without looking at him she could see, as she bent over the flower-bed, that he had the look of exuberant vitality which accompanies perfect physical condition.