Frankly Nancy extended the left hand upon which glittered Raymond's diamond.
"The right one, too, Nan darling! What dear, soft, pink things!" Joan bent and kissed them. "Such happy hands; good, true hands. Every line—unbroken. Running from start to finish—as it should run."
"A stupid pair of hands, I call them." Nancy puckered her lips.
"They are blessed hands, Nan."
Raymond went behind Nancy's chair and fixed his eyes upon Joan—he was almost pleading with her to have done with the dangerous play.
"Aunt Dorrie?" Joan turned to her, ignoring Raymond.
"My hands can tell you nothing, Joan, dear," Doris said; "I've been a coward. See, my hands are flabby inside—the hands of a woman who has had much too easy a time. 'Who has reached forth—but never grasped.'"
At this Martin came and stood over Doris. Joan looked up and suddenly her eyes dimmed. She seemed alone. Alone among them all. There was no one beside her—they seemed, Martin and Raymond, to be defending their loved ones from her.
"And now, my brother Ken!" The words were like a call.
"Oh, let me off!" Raymond tried to speak lightly.