he first saw her;
and, after that, he would notice her no more: he would not dance with
her; he would not favour her in the cotillion--he would not go near her!

He descended to dinner upon the third urgent summons of a coloured
butler, having spent two hours dressing--and rehearsing.

Chapter IX

The Honourable George Amberson was a congressman who led cotillions--the
sort of congressman an Amberson would be. He did it negligently,
tonight, yet with infallible dexterity, now and then glancing humorously
at the spectators, people of his own age. They were seated in a tropical
grove at one end of the room whither they had retired at the beginning
of the cotillion, which they surrendered entirely to the twenties and
the late 'teens. And here, grouped with that stately pair, Sydney and
Amelia Amberson, sat Isabel with Fanny, while Eugene Morgan appeared to
bestow an amiable devotion impartially upon the three sisters-in-law.
Fanny watched his face eagerly, laughing at everything he said; Amelia
smiled blandly, but rather because of graciousness than because of
interest; while Isabel, looking out at the dancers, rhythmically moved a
great fan of blue ostrich feathers, listened to Eugene thoughtfully, yet
all the while kept her shining eyes on Georgie.

Georgie had carried out his rehearsed projects with precision, he had
given Miss Morgan a nod studied into perfection during his lengthy
toilet before dinner. "Oh, yes, I do seem to remember that curious
little outsider!" this nod seemed to say. Thereafter, all cognizance
of her evaporated: the curious little outsider was permitted no further
existence worth the struggle. Nevertheless, she flashed in the corner
of his eye too often. He was aware of her dancing demurely, and of her
viciously flirtatious habit of never looking up at her partner,
but keeping her eyes concealed beneath downcast lashes; and he had
over-sufficient consciousness of her between the dances, though it was
not possible to see her at these times, even if he had cared to look
frankly in her direction--she was invisible in a thicket of young
dresscoats. The black thicket moved as she moved and her location was
hatefully apparent, even if he had not heard her voice laughing from the
thicket. It was annoying how her voice, though never loud, pursued him.
No matter how vociferous were other voices, all about, he seemed unable
to prevent himself from constantly recognizing hers. It had a quaver in