ouldn't tell till I had to," she said piteously. "I couldn't till
George Amberson went away. He couldn't do anything to help, anyhow, and
I just didn't want him to talk to me about it--he's been at me so much
about not putting more in than I could afford to lose, and said he
considered he had my--my word I wasn't putting more than that in it. So
I thought: What was the use? What was the use of going over it all
with him and having him reproach me, and probably reproach himself?
It wouldn't do any good--not any good on earth." She got out her lace
handkerchief and began to cry. "Nothing does any good, I guess, in this
old world. Oh, how tired of this old world I am! I didn't know what to
do. I just tried to go ahead and be as practical as I could, and arrange
some way for us to live. Oh, I knew you didn't want me, George! You
always teased me and berated me whenever you had a chance from the time
you were a little boy--you did so! Later, you've tried to be kinder to
me, but you don't want me around--oh, I can see that much! You don't
suppose I want to thrust myself on you, do you? It isn't very pleasant
to be thrusting yourself on a person you know doesn't want you--but I
knew you oughtn't to be left all alone in the world; it isn't good. I
knew your mother'd want me to watch over you and try to have something
like a home for you--I know she'd want me to do what I tried to do!"
Fanny's tears were bitter now, and her voice, hoarse and wet, was
tragically sincere. "I tried--I tried to be practical--to look after
your interests--to make things as nice for you as I could--I walked my
heels down looking for a place for us to live--I walked and walked over
this town--I didn't ride one block on a street-car--I wouldn't use five
cents no matter how tired I--Oh!" She sobbed uncontrollably. "Oh! and
now--you don't want--you want--you want to leave me in the lurch! You--"

George stopped walking. "In God's name, Aunt Fanny," he said, "quit
spreading out your handkerchief and drying it and then getting it all
wet again! I mean stop crying! Do! And for heaven's sake, get up. Don't
sit there with your back against the boiler and--"

"It's not hot," Fanny sniffled. "It's cold; the plumbers disconnected
it. I wouldn't mind if they hadn't. I wouldn't mind if it burned me,
George."

"Oh, my Lord!" He went to her, and lifted her. "For God's sake, get up!
Come, let's take the coffee into the other room, and see what's to be
done."

He g