ny went on, always taking care to keep her voice from getting too
loud, in spite of her most grievous agitation. "Do you dream I thought
you'd go making such a fool of yourself at Mrs. Johnson's? Oh, I saw her
this morning! She wouldn't talk to me, but I met George Amberson on my
way back, and he told me what you'd done over there! And do you dream I
thought you'd do what you've done here this afternoon to Eugene? Oh, I
knew that, too! I was looking out of the front bedroom window, and I saw
him drive up, and then go away again, and I knew you'd been to the door.
Of course he went to George Amberson about it, and that's why George is
here. He's got to tell Isabel the whole thing now, and you wanted to go
in there interfering--God knows what! You stay here and let her brother
tell her; he's got some consideration for her!"

"I suppose you think I haven't!" George said, challenging her, and at
that Fanny laughed witheringly.

"You! Considerate of anybody!"

"I'm considerate of her good name!" he said hotly. "It seems to me
that's about the first thing to be considerate of, in being considerate
of a person! And look here: it strikes me you're taking a pretty
different tack from what you did yesterday afternoon!"

Fanny wrung her hands. "I did a terrible thing!" she lamented. "Now that
it's done and too late I know what it was! I didn't have sense enough
just to let things go on. I didn't have any business to interfere, and I
didn't mean to interfere--I only wanted to talk, and let out a little! I
did think you already knew everything I told you. I did! And I'd rather
have cut my hand off than stir you up to doing what you have done! I was
just suffering so that I wanted to let out a little--I didn't mean any
real harm. But now I see what's happened--oh, I was a fool! I hadn't any
business interfering. Eugene never would have looked at me, anyhow, and,
oh, why couldn't I have seen that before! He never came here a single
time in his life except on her account, never! and I might have let them
alone, because he wouldn't have looked at me even if he'd never seen
Isabel. And they haven't done any harm: she made Wilbur happy, and she
was a true wife to him as long as he lived. It wasn't a crime for her to
care for Eugene all the time; she certainly never told him she did--and
she gave me every chance in the world! She left us alone together every
time she could--even since Wilbur died--but what was the use? And here
I go, no