She wore no jewelry, save the unobtrusive gold buckle at her belt and the plain gold hatpin which fastened her hat.

There was nothing about her which marked her as one of the "four hundred." She did not even wear her gloves, but carried them in her hand, and threw them carelessly upon the table when she arrived in Flora Street.

Long, soft white ones, they lay there in their costly elegance beside Lizzie's post-card album that the livery-stable man gave her on her birthday, all the long day while Elizabeth was at Willow Grove, and Lizzie sweltered around under her pink parasol in long white silk gloves.
Grandmother Brady surveyed Elizabeth with decided disapproval.

It seemed too bad on this her day of triumph, and after she had given a hint, as it were, about Lizzie's fine clothes, that the girl should be so blind or stubborn or both as to come around in that plain rig.

Just a common white dress, and an old hat that might have been worn about a livery-stable.