She cast a friendly glance on the golden-oak hatrack as she passed--for O'Hara had risen in her regard since she had discovered that he had not selected the furniture on the first floor--and then stopping for a few moments on the front steps, she closed her eyes, and inhaled the fragrance of the mignonette in the window box.

The yard was brilliant in the early sunshine; and at the gate she saw the wife of the caretaker, who had looked after the flowers in her absence.

Detaining the woman by a gesture, she joined her in the street, and the two started together to walk the long blocks that stretched to Fifth Avenue.
"You are going home early to-day, Mrs.Squires." "Yes, ma'am; it's Johnny's birthday and I promised to take him up to the Bronx.

Mr.O'Hara had his breakfast at seven, and I got through earlier than usual.

He is so tidy that there ain't much to do except to dust around a little." She was a neat, red-faced woman, in rusty mourning for a child she had lost in the early summer, and while she talked, Gabriella felt an irresistible impulse to question her about O'Hara.