The Magnificient Ambersons - Booth Tarkington [78]
"Of course!"
"And because he comes here—and they see her with him driving—and all that—they think they were right when they said she was in—in love with him before—before my father died?"
She looked at him gravely with her eyes now dry between their reddened lids. "Why, George," she said, gently, "don't you know that's what they say? You must know that everybody in town thinks they're going to be married very soon."
George uttered an incoherent cry; and sections of him appeared to writhe. He was upon the verge of actual nausea.
"You know it!" Fanny cried, getting up. "You don't think I'd have spoken of it to you unless I was sure you knew it?" Her voice was wholly genuine, as it had been throughout the wretched interview: Fanny's sincerity was unquestionable. "George, I wouldn't have told you, if you didn't know. What other reason could you have for treating Eugene as you did, or for refusing to speak to them like that a while ago in the yard? Somebody must have told you?"
"Who told you?" he said.
"What?"
"Who told you there was talk? Where is this talk? Where does it come from? Who does it?"
"Why, I suppose pretty much everybody," she said. "I know it must be pretty general."
"Who said so?"
"What?"
George stepped close to her. "You say people don't speak to a person of gossip about that person's family. Well, how did you hear it, then? How did you get hold of it? Answer me!"
Fanny looked thoughtful. "Well, of course nobody not one's most intimate friends would speak to them about such things, and then only in the kindest, most considerate way."
"Who's spoken of it to you in any way at all?" George demanded.
"Why—" Fanny hesitated.
"You answer me!"
"I hardly think it would be fair to give names."
"Look here," said George. "One of your most intimate friends is that mother of Charlie Johnson's, for instance. Has she ever mentioned this to you? You say everybody is talking. Is she one?"
"Oh, she may have intimated—"
"I'm asking you: Has she ever spoken of it to you?"
"She's a very kind, discreet woman, George; but she may have intimated—"
George had a sudden intuition, as there flickered into his mind the picture of a street-crossing and two absorbed ladies almost run down by a fast horse. "You and she have been talking about it to-day!" he cried. "You were talking about it with her not two hours ago. Do you deny it?"
"I—"
"Do you deny it?"
"No!"
"All right," said George. "That's enough!"
She caught at his arm as he turned away. "What are you going to do, George?"
"I'll not talk about it, now," he said heavily. "I think you've done a good deal for one day, Aunt Fanny!"
And Fanny, seeing the passion in his face, began to be alarmed. She tried to retain possession of the black velvet sleeve which her fingers had clutched, and he suffered her to do so, but used this leverage to urge her to the door. "George, you know I'm sorry for you, whether you care or not," she whimpered. "I never in the world would have spoken of it, if I hadn't thought you knew all about it. I wouldn't have—"
But he had opened the door with his free hand. "Never mind!" he said, and she was obliged to pass out into the hall, the door closing quickly behind her.
Chapter XXII
George took off his dressing-gown and put on a collar and a tie, his fingers shaking so that the tie was not his usual success; then he picked up his coat and waistcoat, and left the room while still in process of donning them, fastening the buttons, as he ran down the front stairs to the door. It was not until he reached the middle of the street that he realized that he had forgotten his hat; and he paused for an irresolute moment, during which his eye wandered, for no reason, to the Fountain of Neptune. This castiron replica of too elaborate sculpture stood at the next corner, where the Major had placed it when the Addition was laid out so long ago. The street corners had been shaped to conform with the great octagonal basin, which was no great inconvenience for horse-drawn vehicles, but a nuisance to speeding automobiles; and, even as George looked, one of the latter, coming too fast, saved itself only by a dangerous skid as it rounded the fountain. This skid was to George's liking, though he would have been more pleased to see the car go over, for he was wishing grief and destruction, just then, upon all the automobiles in the world.