They were the only people who ever came to our house , and they either teased me or overlooked me . None of them was at all like this young man I had met in the beech wood , nor ever could have been , I thought . When I reached home I stopped before the big mirror that hung in the hall and did what I had never done before in my life -- looked at myself very scrutinizingly and wondered if I had any beauty . I could only sorrowfully conclude that I had not -- I was so slight and pale , and the thick black hair and dark eyes that might have been pretty in another woman seemed only to accentuate the lack of spirit and regularity in my features . I was still standing there , gazing wistfully at my mirrored face with a strange sinking of spirit , when Father came through the hall , his riding whip in his hand . Seeing me , he laughed . `` Do n't waste your time gazing into mirrors , Isobel , '' he said carelessly . `` That might have been excusable in former ladies of Shirley whose beauty might pardon and even adorn vanity , but with you it is only absurd . The needle and the cookbook are all that you need concern yourself with . '' I was accustomed to such speeches from him , but they had never hurt me so cruelly before . At that moment I would have given all the world only to be beautiful . The next Sunday I looked across the church , and in the Fraser pew I saw the young man I had met in the wood . He was looking at me with his arms folded over his breast and on his brow a little frown that seemed somehow indicative of pain and surprise . I felt a miserable sense of disappointment . If he were the Frasers ' guest I could not expect to meet him again . Father hated the Frasers , all the Shirleys hated them ; it was an old feud , bitter and lasting , that had been as much our inheritance for generations as land and money . The only thing Father had ever taken pains to teach me was detestation of the Frasers and all their works . I accepted this as I accepted all the other traditions of my race . I thought it did not matter much . The Frasers were not likely to come my way , and hatred was a good satisfying passion in the lack of all else .
I think I rather took a pride in hating them XXXXX became my blood .
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