a pleasant evening."

After a silence, "Thank you," he said, without expression.

Another silence followed before she spoke again.

"You wouldn't care to be kissed good-night, I suppose?" And with
a little flurry of placative laughter, she added: "At your age, of
course!"

"I'm going to bed, now," he said. "Goodnight."

Another silence seemed blanker than those which had preceded it, and
finally her voice came--it was blank, too.

"Good-night."

After he was in bed his thoughts became more tumultuous than ever; while
among all the inchoate and fragmentary sketches of this dreadful day,
now rising before him, the clearest was of his uncle collapsed in a
big chair with a white tie dangling from his hand; and one conviction,
following upon that picture, became definite in George's mind: that his
Uncle George Amberson was a hopeless dreamer from whom no help need be
expected, an amiable imbecile lacking in normal impulses, and wholly
useless in a struggle which required honour to be defended by a man of
action.

Then would return a vision of Mrs. Johnson's furious round head,
set behind her great bosom like the sun far sunk on the horizon of a
mountain plateau--and her crackling, asthmatic voice... "Without sharing
in other people's disposition to put an evil interpretation on what may
be nothing more than unfortunate appearances."... "Other people may be
less considerate in not confirming their discussion of it, as I have, to
charitable views."... "you'll know something pretty quick! You'll know
you're out in the street."... And then George would get up again--and
again--and pace the floor in his bare feet.

That was what the tormented young man was doing when daylight came
gauntly in at his window--pacing the floor, rubbing his head in his
hands, and muttering:

"It can't be true: this can't be happening to me!"

Chapter XXIV

Breakfast was brought to him in his room, as usual; but he did not
make his normal healthy raid upon the dainty tray: the food remained
untouched, and he sustained himself upon coffee--four cups of it, which
left nothing of value inside the glistening little percolator. During
this process he heard his mother being summoned to the telephone in the
hall, not far from his door, and then her voice responding: "Yes? Oh,
it's you! Indeed I should!... Of course.. .. Then I'll expect you about
three... Yes. Good-bye till then." A few minutes later he heard her
speaking to someone