Then all at once the man of her dreams touched her hand in a dream, and a faintness swept over her.

Then suddenly, gathering shape out of the indetermination of the shadows and the moonlight, came a man into the yard, and Ellen thought with awe and delight that it was he; but instead Granville Joy stood before her, lifting his hat above his soft shock of hair.
"Hullo!" he said.
"Good-evening," responded Ellen, and Granville Joy felt abashed.

He lay awake half the night reflecting that he should have greeted her with a "Good-evening" instead of "Hullo," as he had been used to do in their school-days; that she was now a young lady, and that Mr.
Lloyd had accosted her differently.

Ellen rose with a feeling of disappointment that Granville was himself, which is the hardest greeting possible for a guest, involving the most subtle reproach in the world--the reproach for a man's own individuality.
"Oh, don't get up, Ellen," the young man said, awkwardly.
"Here--I'll sit down here on the rock." Then he flung himself down on the ledge of rock which cropped out like a bare rib of the earth between the trees, and Ellen seated herself again in her chair.
"Beautiful night, ain't it ?" said Granville.
Ellen noticed that Granville said "ain't" instead of "isn't," according to the fashion of his own family, although he was recently graduated from the high-school.

Ellen had separated herself, although with no disparaging reflections, from the language of her family.