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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.
"Oh, he's still only a boy," said Eugene consolingly. "There's plenty of fine stuff in him can't help but be, because he's Isabel Amberson's son." Lucy stroked his hair, which was still almost as dark as her own. "You liked her pretty well once, I guess, papa." "I do still," he said quietly. "She's lovely lovely! Papa " she paused, then continued "I wonder sometimes " "What?"
Then a murmur was heard, and George Amberson's voice, quick and serious: "I want to talk to you, Isabel"... and another murmur; then Isabel and her brother passed the foot of the broad, dark stairway, but did not look up, and remained unconscious of the watchful presence above them.
Then he bowed, and strode out of the door. Three minutes later, disheveled and perspiring, but cold all over, he burst into his Uncle George's room at the Major's without knocking. Amberson was dressing. "Good gracious, Georgie!" he exclaimed. "What's up?" "I've just come from Mrs. Johnson's across the street," George panted. "You have your own tastes!" was Amberson's comment.
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