The Magnificent Ambersons by Booth Tarkington (little red riding hood ebook .TXT) 📕

were tears in her eyes, tears which he did not understand at all.

“Lucy, you little dear!” he cried. “I knew you⁠—”

“No, no!” she said, and she pushed him away, withdrawing her hand. “George, let’s not talk of solemn things.”

“ ‘Solemn things’! Like what?”

“Like⁠—being engaged.”

But George had become altogether jubilant, and he laughed triumphantly. “Good gracious, that isn’t solemn!”

“It is, too!” she said, wiping her eyes. “It’s too solemn for us.”

“No, it isn’t! I⁠—”

“Let’s sit down and be sensible, dear,” she said. “You sit over there⁠—”

“I will if you’ll call me ‘dear’ again.”

“No,” she said. “I’ll only call you that once again this summer⁠—the night before you go away.”

“That will have to do, then,” he laughed, “so long as I know we’re engaged.”

“But we’re not!” she protested. “And we never will be, if you don’t promise not to speak of it again until⁠—until I tell you to!”

“I won’t promise that,” said the happy George. “I’ll only promise not to speak of it till the next time you call me ‘dear’; and you’ve promised to call me that the night before I leave for my senior year.”

“Oh, but I didn’t!” she said earnestly, then hesitated. “Did I?”

“Didn’t you?”

“I don’t think I meant it,” she murmured, her wet lashes flickering above troubled eyes.

“I know one thing about you,” he said gayly, his triumph increasing. “You never went back on anything you said, yet, and I’m not afraid of this being the first time!”

“But we mustn’t let⁠—” she faltered; then went on tremulously, “George, we’ve got on so well together, we won’t let this make a difference between us, will we?” And she joined in his laughter.

“It will all depend on what you tell me the night before I go away. You agree we’re going to settle things then, don’t you, Lucy?”

“I don’t promise.”

“Yes, you do! Don’t you?”

“Well⁠—”

XIII

That nights George began a jubilant warfare upon his Aunt Fanny, opening the campaign upon his return home at about eleven o’clock. Fanny had retired, and was presumably asleep, but George, on the way to his own room, paused before her door, and serenaded her in a full baritone:

“As I walk along the Boy de Balong
With my independent air,
The people all declare,
‘He must be a millionaire!’
Oh, you hear them sigh, and wish to die,
And see them wink the other eye.
At the man that broke the bank at Monte Carlo!”

Isabel came from George’s room, where she had been reading, waiting for him. “I’m afraid you’ll disturb your father, dear. I wish you’d sing more, though⁠—in the daytime! You have a splendid voice.”

“Good night, old lady!”

“I thought perhaps I⁠—Didn’t you want me to come in with you and talk a little?”

“Not tonight. You go to bed. Good night, old lady!”

He kissed her hilariously, entered his room with a skip, closed his door noisily; and then he could be heard tossing things about, loudly humming “The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo.”

Smiling, his mother knelt outside his door to pray; then, with her “Amen,” pressed her lips to the bronze doorknob; and went silently to her own apartment.

… After breakfasting in bed, George spent the next morning at his grandfather’s and did not encounter his Aunt Fanny until lunch, when she seemed to be ready for him.

“Thank you so much for the serenade, George!” she said. “Your poor father tells me he’d just got to sleep for the first time in two nights, but after your kind attentions he lay awake the rest of last night.”

“Perfectly true,” Mr. Minafer said grimly.

“Of course, I didn’t know, sir,” George hastened to assure him. “I’m awfully sorry. But Aunt Fanny was so gloomy and excited before I went out, last evening, I thought she needed cheering up.”

“I!” Fanny jeered. “I was gloomy? I was excited? You mean about that engagement?”

“Yes. Weren’t you? I thought I heard you worrying over somebody’s being engaged. Didn’t I hear you say you’d heard Mr. Eugene Morgan was engaged to marry some pretty little seventeen-year-old girl?”

Fanny was stung, but she made a brave effort. “Did you ask Lucy?” she said, her voice almost refusing the teasing laugh she tried to make it utter. “Did you ask her when Fred Kinney and she⁠—”

“Yes. That story wasn’t true. But the other one⁠—” Here he stared at Fanny, and then affected dismay. “Why, what’s the matter with your face, Aunt Fanny? It seems agitated!”

“Agitated!” Fanny said disdainfully, but her voice undeniably lacked steadiness. “Agitated!”

“Oh, come!” Mr. Minafer interposed. “Let’s have a little peace!”

“I’m willing,” said George. “I don’t want to see poor Aunt Fanny all stirred up over a rumour I just this minute invented myself. She’s so excitable⁠—about certain subjects⁠—it’s hard to control her.” He turned to his mother. “What’s the matter with grandfather?”

“Didn’t you see him this morning?” Isabel asked.

“Yes. He was glad to see me, and all that, but he seemed pretty fidgety. Has he been having trouble with his heart again?”

“Not lately. No.”

“Well, he’s not himself. I tried to talk to him about the estate; it’s disgraceful⁠—it really is⁠—the way things are looking. He wouldn’t listen, and he seemed upset. What’s he upset over?”

Isabel looked serious; however, it was her husband who suggested gloomily, “I suppose the Major’s bothered about this Sydney and Amelia business, most likely.”

“What Sydney and Amelia business?” George asked.

“Your mother can tell you, if she wants to,” Minafer said. “It’s not my side of the family, so I keep off.”

“It’s rather disagreeable for all of us, Georgie,” Isabel began. “You see, your Uncle Sydney wanted a diplomatic position, and he thought brother George, being in Congress, could arrange it. George did get him the offer of a South American ministry, but Sydney wanted a European ambassadorship, and he got quite indignant with poor George for thinking he’d take anything smaller⁠—and he believes George didn’t work hard enough for him. George had done his best, of course, and now he’s out of Congress, and won’t run again⁠—so there’s Sydney’s idea of a big diplomatic position