“We must invite your Aunt Jane, of course,” said Mrs. Spencer.
Rachel made a protesting movement with her large, white, shapely hands — hands which were so different from the thin, dark, twisted ones folded on the table opposite her. The difference was not caused by hard work or the lack of it; Rachel had worked hard all her life. It was a difference inherent in temperament. The Spencers, no matter what they did, or how hard they labored, all had plump, smooth, white hands, with firm, supple fingers; the Chiswicks, even those who toiled not, neither did they spin, had hard, knotted, twisted ones. Moreover the contrast went deeper than externals, and twined itself with the innermost fibers of life, and thought, and action.
“I don’t see why we must invite Aunt Jane,” said Rachel, with as much impatience as her soft, throaty voice could express. “Aunt Jane doesn’t like me, and I don’t like Aunt Jane.”
“I'm sure I don’t see why you don’t like her,” said Mrs. Spencer. “It’s ungrateful of you. She has always been very kind to you.”
