rous, even glide, considered most
knowing, they pranced and whirled through the throng, from wall to
wall, galloping bounteously in abandon. George suffered a shock of
vague surprise when he perceived that his aunt, Fanny Minafer, was the
lady-half of one of these wild couples.

Fanny Minafer, who rouged a little, was like fruit which in some
climates dries with the bloom on. Her features had remained prettily
childlike; so had her figure, and there were times when strangers,
seeing her across the street, took her to be about twenty; they were
other times when at the same distance they took her to be about sixty,
instead of forty, as she was. She had old days and young days; old hours
and young hours; old minutes and young minutes; for the change might
be that quick. An alteration in her expression, or a difference in
the attitude of her head, would cause astonishing indentations to
appear--and behold, Fanny was an old lady! But she had been never more
childlike than she was tonight as she flew over the floor in the capable
arms of the queer-looking duck; for this person was her partner.

The queer-looking duck had been a real dancer in his day, it appeared;
and evidently his day was not yet over. In spite of the headlong, gay
rapidity with which he bore Miss Fanny about the big room, he danced
authoritatively, avoiding without effort the lightest collision with
other couples, maintaining sufficient grace throughout his wildest
moments, and all the while laughing and talking with his partner. What
was most remarkable to George, and a little irritating, this stranger in
the Amberson Mansion had no vestige of the air of deference proper to
a stranger in such a place: he seemed thoroughly at home. He seemed
offensively so, indeed, when, passing the entrance to the gallery
stairway, he disengaged his hand from Miss Fanny's for an instant, and
not pausing in the dance, waved a laughing salutation more than cordial,
then capered lightly out of sight.

George gazed stonily at this manifestation, responding neither by word
nor sign. "How's that for a bit of freshness?" he murmured.

"What was?" Miss Morgan asked.

"That queer-looking duck waving his hand at me like that. Except he's
the Sharon girls' uncle I don't know him from Adam."

"You don't need to," she said. "He wasn't waving his hand to you: he
meant me."

"Oh, he did?" George was not mollified by the explanation. "Everybody
seems to mean you! You certainly do