The other girl's second attempt is much better than the first, and Greta nods in approval - and then blushes a little, at the thanks. An older girl is thanking her. Not just older, either, but of an unmistakably higher class. All the grass stains in the world couldn't hide the fine quality of the clothes she's wearing, after all. Greta's own dress is far more plain, though at least she's managed to keep it reasonably tidy.

Oh, dear, she hasn't even introduced herself. Her blush deepens. "It's Greta," she says sheepishly, ducking her head and focusing on her own work for a few moments. But her gaze flits inexorably back up to the other girl, and she ventures, "What's yours?" Then, because she can't help herself, and in a tone that wavers somewhere between complimentary and merely observing, "Your hair is very blue."