Being a philosopher he was
not surprised, that afternoon, in the course of a drive he took in the
old carriage with the Major, when, George was encountered upon the
highway, flashing along in his runabout with Lucy beside him and
Pendennis doing better than three minutes.
"He seems to have recovered," Amberson remarked: "Looks in the
highest good spirits."
"I beg your pardon."
"Your grandson," Amberson explained. "He was inclined to melancholy
this morning, but seemed jolly enough just now when they passed us."
"What was he melancholy about? Not getting remorseful about all the
money he's spent at college, was he?" The Major chuckled feebly, but
with sufficient grimness. "I wonder what he thinks I'm made of," he
concluded querulously.
"Gold," his son suggested, adding gently, "And he's right about part
of you, father."
"What part?"
"Your heart."
The Major laughed ruefully. "I suppose that may account for how heavy
it feels, sometimes, nowadays. This town seems to be rolling right
over that old heart you mentioned, George--rolling over it and burying
it under! When I think of those devilish workmen digging up my lawn,
yelling around my house--"
"Never mind, father.
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