f George were anything but continuous,
and weeks went by when he was not consciously in her mind at all. Her
life was a busy one: she had the big house "to keep up"; she had a
garden to keep up, too, a large and beautiful garden; she represented
her father as a director for half a dozen public charity organizations,
and did private charity work of her own, being a proxy mother of several
large families; and she had "danced down," as she said, groups from
eight or nine classes of new graduates returned from the universities,
without marrying any of them, but she still danced--and still did not
marry.

Her father, observing this circumstance happily, yet with some
hypocritical concern, spoke of it to her one day as they stood in her
garden. "I suppose I'd want to shoot him," he said, with attempted
lightness. "But I mustn't be an old pig. I'd build you a beautiful house
close by--just over yonder."

"No, no! That would be like--" she began impulsively; then checked
herself. George Amberson's comparison of the Georgian house to the
Amberson Mansion had come into her mind, and she thought that another
new house, built close by for her, would be like the house the Major
built for Isabel.

"Like what?"

"Nothing." She looked serious, and when he reverted to his idea of "some
day" grudgingly surrendering her up to a suitor, she invented a legend.
"Did you ever hear the Indian name for that little grove of beech trees
on the other side of the house?" she asked him.

"No--and you never did either!" he laughed.

"Don't be so sure! I read a great deal more than I used to--getting
ready for my bookish days when I'll have to do something solid in the
evenings and won't be asked to dance any more, even by the very youngest
boys who think it's a sporting event to dance with the oldest of the
'older girls'. The name of the grove was 'Loma-Nashah' and it means
'They-Couldn't-Help-It'."

"Doesn't sound like it."

"Indian names don't. There was a bad Indian chief lived in the grove
before the white settlers came. He was the worst Indian that
ever lived, and his name was--it was 'Vendonah.' That means
'Rides-Down-Everything'."

"What?"

"His name was Vendonah, the same thing as Rides-Down-Everything."

"I see," said Eugene thoughtfully. He gave her a quick look and then
fixed his eyes upon the end of the garden path. "Go on."

"Vendonah was an unspeakable case," Lucy continued. "He was so proud
that he wore iron shoes and