There were beautiful rings on her fingers.

Every article she wore was of the finest material and in excellent taste.

There was the trembling Limberlost guard in his coarse clothing, with his cotton rags and his old pail of swamp water.

Freckles was sufficiently accustomed to contrasts to notice them, and sufficiently fine to be hurt by them always.
He lifted his eyes with a shadowy pain in them to hers, and found them of serene, unconscious purity.

What she had said was straight from a kind, untainted, young heart.