“Didn’t you, when you were here? Like uncle, like nephew.”
“Don’t tell George you think he’s like me. Just at this time we should be careful of the young gentleman’s feelings.”
“Yes,” said Eugene. “If we weren’t he mightn’t let us exist at all.”
“I’m sure I didn’t have it so badly at his age,” Amberson said reflectively, as they strolled on through the commencement crowd. “For one thing, I had brothers and sisters, and my mother didn’t just sit at my feet as George’s does; and I wasn’t an only grandchild, either. Father’s always spoiled Georgie a lot more than he did any of his own children.”
Eugene laughed. “You need only three things to explain all that’s good and bad about Georgie.”
“Three?”
“He’s Isabel’s only child. He’s an Amberson. He’s a boy.”
“Well, Mister Bones, of these three things which are the good ones and which are the bad ones?”
“All of them,” said Eugene.
It happened that just then they came in sight of the subject of their discourse. George was walking under the elms with Lucy, swinging a stick and pointing out to her various objects and localities which had attained historical value during the last four years. The two older men marked his gestures, careless and graceful; they observed his attitude, unconsciously noble, his easy proprietorship of the ground beneath his feet and round about, of the branches overhead, of the old buildings beyond, and of Lucy.