"They are nothing to carry." "They're real pretty flowers," said Granville, timidly.
"Yes, I think they are." "Mother planted some, but hers didn't come up.

Mother has got some beautiful nasturtiums.

Perhaps you would like some," he said, eagerly.
"No, thank you, I have some myself," Ellen said, rather coldly.

"I'm just as much obliged to you." Granville quivered a little and shrank as a dog might under a blow.
He saw this dainty girl-shape floating along at his side in a flutter of wonderful draperies, one hand holding up her skirts with maddening revelations of whiteness.

If a lily could hold up her petals out of the dust she might do it in the same fashion as Ellen held her skirts, with no coarse clutching nor crumpling, not immodestly, but rather with disclosures of modesty itself.