Some of them regarded him as a curious little creature, so serious, yet so bright and jolly, and always so delicate in his way with them.

They all liked him, and he adored them.

Polly he felt he belonged to.

Then Connie, with her mane of red hair, her face of apple-blossom, her murmuring voice, such a lady in her shabby black frock, appealed to his romantic side.
"When you sit winding," he said, "it looks as if you were spinning at a spinning-wheel--it looks ever so nice.

You remind me of Elaine in the 'Idylls of the King'.