and George became pink with mortification as his mother called his
attention to a white-bearded guest waiting to shake his hand. This
was George's great-uncle, old John Minafer: it was old John's boast
that in spite of his connection by marriage with the Ambersons, he
never had worn and never would wear a swaller-tail coat. Members of
his family had exerted their influence uselessly--at eighty-nine
conservative people seldom form radical new habits, and old John wore
his "Sunday suit" of black broadcloth to the Amberson ball. The coat
was square, with skirts to the knees; old John called it a "Prince
Albert" and was well enough pleased with it, but his great-nephew
considered it the next thing to an insult. George's purpose had been
to ignore the man, but he had to take his hand for a moment; whereupon
old John began to tell George that he was looking well, though there
had been a time, during his fourth month, when he was so puny that
nobody thought he would live. The great-nephew, in a fury of blushes,
dropped old John's hand with some vigour, and seized that of the next
person in the line. "Member you v'ry well 'ndeed!" he said fiercely.

The large room had filled, and so had the broad hall and the rooms on
the other side of the hall, where there were tables for whist. The
imported orchestra waited in the ballroom on the third floor, but a
local harp, 'cello, violin, and flute were playing airs from "The
Fencing Master" in the hall, and people were shouting over the music.
Old John Minafer's voice was louder and more penetrating than any
other, because he had been troubled with deafness for twenty-five
years, heard his own voice but faintly, and liked to hear it. "Smell
o' flowers like this always puts me in mind o' funerals," he kept
telling his niece, Fanny Minafer, who was with him; and he seemed to
get a great deal of satisfaction out of this reminder. His tremulous
yet strident voice cut through the voluminous sound that filled the