The Magnificent Ambersons

monstrous amount of her fur boa seemed to mingle with an equally unplausible quantity of snow in his mouth. He was confused, but conscious of no objection to any of these juxtapositions. She w

not forget it!" Her voice had a sound of genuineness, very pleasant; and George began to forget his annoyance with her father. This annoyance of his had not been alleviated by the circumstance that neither of the seats of the old sewing-machine was designed for three people, but when his neighbour spoke thus gratefully, he no longer minded the crowding-in fact, it pleased him so much that he began to wish the old sewing-machine would go even slower. And she had spoken no word of blame for his letting that darned horse get the cutter into the ditch. George presently addressed her hurriedly, almost tremulously, speaking close to her ear: "I forgot to tell you something: you're pretty nice! I thought so the first second I saw you last night. I'll come for you tonight and take you to the Assembly at the Amberson Hotel. You're going, aren't you?" "Yes, but I'm going with papa and the Sharons I'll see you there." "Looks to me as if you were awfully conventional," George grumbled; and his disappointment was deeper than he was willing to let her see- though she probably did see. "Well, we'll dance the cotillion together, anyhow." "I'm afraid not. I promised Mr. Kinney." "What!" George's tone was shocked, as at incredible news. "Well, you could break that engagement, I guess, if you wanted to! Girls always can get out of things when they want to. Won't you?" "I don't think so." "Why not?" "Because I promised him. Several days ago." George gulped, and lowered his pride, "I don't-oh, look here! I only want to go to that thing tonight to get to see something of you; and if you don't dance the cotillion with me, how can I? I'll only be here two weeks, and the others have got all the rest of your visit to see you. Won't you do it, please?" "I couldn't." "See here!" said the stricken George. "If you're going to decline to dance that cotillion with me simply because you've promised a-a-a miserable red-headed outsider like Fred Kinney, why we might as well quit!" "Quit what?" "You know perfectly well what I mean," he said huskily. "I don't." "Well, you ought to!" "But I don't at all!" George, thoroughly hurt, and not a little embittered, expressed himself in a short outburst of laughter: "Well, I ought to have seen it!" "Seen what?" "That you might turn out to be a girl who'd like a fellow of the redheaded Kinney sort. I ought to have seen it from the first!" Lucy bore her disgrace lightly. "Oh, dancing a cotillion with a person doesn't mean that you like him-but I don't see anything in particular the matter with Mr. Kinney. What is?" "If you don't see anything the matter with him for yourself," George responded, icily, "I don't think pointing it out would help you. You probably wouldn't understand." "You might try," she suggested. "Of course I'm a stranger here, and if people have done anything wrong or have something unpleasant about them, I wouldn't have any way of knowing it, just at first. If poor Mr. Kinney-" "I prefer not to discuss it," said George curtly. "He's an enemy of mine." "Why?" "I prefer not to discuss it." "Well, but-" "I prefer not to discuss it!" "Very well." She began to hum the air of the song which Mr. George Amberson was now discoursing, "O moon of my delight that knows no wane"-and there was no further conversation on the back seat. They had entered Amberson Addition, and the moon of Mr. Amberson's delight was overlaid by a slender Gothic filagree; the branches that sprang from the shade trees lining the street. Through the windows of many of the houses rosy lights were flickering; and silver tinsel and evergreen wreaths and brilliant little glass globes of silver and wine colour could be seen, and glimpses were caught of Christmas trees, with people decking them by firelight-reminders that this was Christmas Eve. The ride-stealers had disappeared from the highway, though now and then, over the gasping and howling of the horseless carriage, there came a shrill jeer from some young passer-by upon the sidewalk: "Mister, fer heaven's sake go an' git a hoss! Git a hoss! Git a hoss!" The contrivance stopped with a heart-shaking jerk before Isabel's house. The gentlemen jumped down, helping Isabel and Fanny to descend; there were friendly leavetakings-and one that was not precisely friendly. "It's 'au revoir,' till to-night, isn't it?" Lucy asked, laughing. "Good afternoon!" said George, and he did not wait, as his relatives did, to see the old sewing machine start briskly down the street, toward the Sharons'; its lighter load consisting now of only Mr. Morgan and his daughter. George went into the house at once. He found his father reading the evening paper in the library. "Where are your mother and your Aunt Fanny?" Mr. Minafer inquired, not looking up. "They're coming," said his son; and, casting himself heavily into a chair, stared at the fire. His prediction was verified a few moments later; the two ladies came in cheerfully, unfastening their fur cloaks. "It's all right, Georgie," said Isabel. "Your Uncle George called to us that Pendennis got home safely. Put your shoes close to the fire, dear, or else go and change them." She went to her husband and patted him lightly on the shoulder, an action which George watched with sombre moodiness. "You might dress before long," she suggested. "We're all going to the Assembly, after dinner, aren't we? Brother George said he'd go with us." "Look here," said Geo

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