The gentleman didn't seem to gain poise or eloquence with his speech as their conversation continued, which certainly did make Helga seem like the more well-spoken of the two; however, she knew that compared to other young ladies who were born and raised higher on the social ladder than herself, she too was just an ordinary girl. She certainly help but silently soak up his praise (as evidenced by her beaming smile), despite to urge do the humble thing and refute it.

"Do you always pay newly-acquainted young ladies such attention?" she teased. "You may give off the wrong idea if you're not careful." She didn't think too much of his praise (flirting?), as she was positive that a quidditch player would by no means fit the description of her ideal husband, even if he was quick to offer compliments.

She didn't ponder on that thought, plucking the fabric from her hand. It felt expensive, and upon closer examination she could make out its delicate stitching — definitely out of her budget. Ugh, the struggle of not being rich.

"It's nice, but I think it would clash with the warmth of my skin tone," she responded, her eyes still lingering on the fabric. "My skin may be pale, but it's got more of a warm undertone than a cool. It would probably make me look yellow in some lights." She didn't expect him to grasp any of that, though.