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Updated: August 11, 2024
"Well, but look how she's thrown him over for it." "No, that wasn't her reason," said the wise Mrs. Henry Franklin Foster. "If men only knew it and it's a good thing they don't a woman doesn't really care much about whether a man's wild or not, if it doesn't affect herself, and Isabel Amberson doesn't care a thing!" "Mrs. Foster!" "No, she doesn't.
Of the brethren, there remained within his present cognizance only his old enemy, the red-haired Kinney, now married to Janie Sharon, and Charlie Johnson, who, out of deference to his mother's memory, had passed the Amberson Mansion one day, when George stood upon the front steps, and, looking in fiercely, had looked away with continued fierceness his only token of recognition.
Miss Fanny Minafer herself told me that everything George and his mother have of their own that is, just to spend as they like she says it has always come from Major Amberson." "Thrift, Horatio!" said Eugene lightly. "Thrift's an inheritance, and a common enough one here.
She took the persistent one, Wilbur Minafer, no breaker of bass viols or of hearts, no serenader at all. A few people, who always foresaw everything, claimed that they were not surprised, because though Wilbur Minafer "might not be an Apollo, as it were," he was "a steady young business man, and a good church-goer," and Isabel Amberson was "pretty sensible for such a showy girl."
"I mean the Ambersons," George said impatiently. "I understand he was a good deal around the house here." "What is your objection to that, George?" "What do you mean: my objection?" "You seemed to speak with a certain crossness." "Well," said George, "I meant he seems to feel awfully at home here. The way he was dancing with Aunt Fanny " Amberson laughed.
George Amberson will bring you this, dear Isabel. He is waiting while I write. He and I have talked things over, and before he gives this to you he will tell you what has happened.
George was never more furious; he felt that he was "making a spectacle of himself"; and no young gentleman in the world was more loath than George Amberson Minafer to look a figure of fun. And while he stood there, undeniably such a figure, with Janie and Mary Sharon threatening to burst at any moment, if laughter were longer denied them.
Probably if her brother George had been with them at the little table, he would have made known what he thought about herself, for it must inevitably have struck him that she was in the midst of one of those "times" when she looked "exactly fourteen years old." Lucy served as a proxy for Amberson, perhaps, when she leaned toward George and whispered: "Did you ever see anything so lovely?"
"Your mother's a dear," said Lucy. "And she does wear the most bewitching things! She looked like a Russian princess, though I doubt if they're that handsome." George said nothing; he drove on till they had crossed Amberson Addition and reached the stone pillars at the head of National Avenue. There he turned. "Let's go back and take another look at that old sewing-machine," he said.
Henry Franklin Foster admitted. "But I'd like to know if he isn't spoiled enough for a whole carload!" Again she found none to challenge her. At the age of nine, George Amberson Minafer, the Major's one grandchild, was a princely terror, dreaded not only in Amberson Addition but in many other quarters through which he galloped on his white pony.
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