She held out to me a small velvet pincushion with beads on it . And then , because I did not , in my shyness , thank her quite as promptly as I should have done , she rapped my head with her bethimbled finger to ` teach me better manners . ' It hurt horribly -- I 've always had a tender head . And that has been Aunt Jane 's way ever since . When I grew too big for the thimble treatment she used her tongue instead -- and that hurt worse . And you know , mother , how she used to talk about my engagement . She is able to spoil the whole atmosphere if she happens to come in a bad humor . I do n't want her . '' `` She must be invited . People would talk so if she was n't . '' `` I do n't see why they should . She 's only my great-aunt by marriage . I would n't mind in the least if people did talk . They 'll talk anyway -- you know that , mother . '' `` Oh , we must have her , '' said Mrs. Spencer , with the indifferent finality that marked all her words and decisions -- a finality against which it was seldom of any avail to struggle . People , who knew , rarely attempted it ; strangers occasionally did , misled by the deceit of appearances . Isabella Spencer was a wisp of a woman , with a pale , pretty face , uncertainly-colored , long-lashed grayish eyes , and great masses of dull , soft , silky brown hair . She had delicate aquiline features and a small , babyish red mouth . She looked as if a breath would sway her . The truth was that a tornado would hardly have caused her to swerve an inch from her chosen path .
For a moment Rachel XXXXX rebellious ; then she yielded , as she generally did in all differences of opinion with her mother .
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