"I
ought to have had it framed, myself, when I gave it to you."

He said nothing, and, standing beside him, she put her hand gently upon
his shoulder, then as gently withdrew it, and went out of the room. But
she did not go upstairs; he heard the faint rustle of her dress in the
hall, and then the sound of her footsteps in the "reception room." After
a time, silence succeeded even these slight tokens of her presence;
whereupon George rose and went warily into the hall, taking care to make
no noise, and he obtained an oblique view of her through the open double
doors of the "reception room." She was sitting in the chair which he had
occupied so long; and she was looking out of the window expectantly--a
little troubled.

He went back to the library, waited an interminable half hour, then
returned noiselessly to the same position in the hall, where he could
see her. She was still sitting patiently by the window.

Waiting for that man, was she? Well, it might be quite a long wait! And
the grim George silently ascended the stairs to his own room, and began
to pace his suffering floor.

Chapter XXV

He left his door open, however, and when he heard the front door-bell
ring, by and by, he went half way down the stairs and stood to listen.
He was not much afraid that Morgan would return, but he wished to make
sure.

Mary appeared in the hall below him, but, after a glance toward the
front of the house, turned back, and withdrew. Evidently Isabel had gone
to the door. 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. Isabel still carried her cloak upon her arm, but Amberson had
taken her hand, and retained it; and as he led her silently into the
library there was something about her attitude, and the pose of her
slightly bent head, that was both startled and meek. Thus they quickly
disappeared from George's sight, hand in hand; and Amberson at once
closed the massive double doors of the library.

For a time all that George could hear was the indistinct sound of his
uncle's voice: what he was saying could not be surmised, though
the troubled brotherliness of his tone was evident. He seemed to be
explaining something at considerable length, and there were moments
when he paused, and