It was the hand of one who had never done anything toilsome in her life, the hand of a petted darling.

He remembered another hand, thin, brown, capable.
None of Mary's later years of ease had given her the hand of a woman of leisure.

It was the hand of a comrade, a helpmate.

Nelly's hand fluttered in his and was suddenly cold.
"Well, Nell," he said, "do you know what I came here in the mind to ask you ?" "Yes." He saw the quick rise and fall of her bosom; he noticed the almost terrified look of her eyes.

Was that how women showed their happy agitation when their lovers claimed them?
Poor little Nell! How easily frightened she was! She had turned quite pale.