She wore her one pair of nice gloves, too, but those she did not put on until she reached the corner of the street where Cynthia lived.

Then she rubbed them on carefully, holding up her challis skirts under one arm.
Cynthia was at home, seated on the back veranda, in a rattan chair, with a book which she was not reading.

Ellen stood before her, in her cheap attire, which she wore with an air which seemed to make it precious, such faith she had in it.

Ellen regarded her coarse blue-flowered challis with an innocent admiration which seemed almost able to glorify it into silk.

Cynthia took in at a glance the exceeding commonness of it all; she saw the hat, the like of which could be seen in the milliners' windows at fabulously low prices; the foam of spurious lace and the spray of wretched blue flowers made her shudder.