“Well, what do you propose to do?” George demanded. “Do you propose to sit there—”
“Yes.”
“—and let this riffraff bandy my mother’s good name back and forth among them? Is that what you propose to do?”
“It’s all I can do,” Amberson returned. “It’s all any of us can do now: just sit still and hope that the thing may die down in time, in spite of your stirring up that awful old woman.”
George drew a long breath, then advanced and stood close before his uncle. “Didn’t you understand me when I told you that people are saying my mother means to marry this man?”
“Yes, I understood you.”
“You say that my going over there has made matters worse,” George went on. “How about it if such a—such an unspeakable marriage did take place? Do you think that would make people believe they’d been wrong in saying—you know what they say.”
“No,” said Amberson deliberately; “I don’t believe it would. There’d be more badness in the bad mouths and more silliness in the silly mouths, I dare say. But it wouldn’t hurt Isabel and Eugene, if they never heard of it; and if they did hear of it, then they could take their choice between placating gossip or living for their own happiness. If they have decided to marry—”
George almost staggered. “Good God!” he gasped. “You speak of it calmly!”
Amberson looked up at him inquiringly. “Why shouldn’t they marry if they want to?” he asked. “It’s their own affair.”