this part of the country especially. Besides, Uncle George is in
Congress; the family like to have someone there."

"Why?"

"Well, it's sort of a good thing in one way. For instance, my Uncle
Sydney Amberson and his wife, Aunt Amelia, they haven't got much of
anything to do with themselves--get bored to death around here, of
course. Well, probably Uncle George'll have Uncle Sydney appointed
minister or ambassador, or something like that, to Russia or Italy or
somewhere, and that'll make it pleasant when any of the rest of the
family go travelling, or things like that. I expect to do a good deal
of travelling myself when I get out of college."

On the stairway he pointed out this prospective ambassadorial couple,
Sydney and Amelia. They were coming down, fronting the ascending
tide, and as conspicuous over it as a king and queen in a play.
Moreover, as the clear-eyed Miss Morgan remarked, the very least they
looked was ambassadorial. Sydney was an Amberson exaggerated, more
pompous than gracious; too portly, flushed, starched to a shine, his
stately jowl furnished with an Edward the Seventh beard. Amelia,
likewise full-bodied, showed glittering blond hair exuberantly
dressed; a pink, fat face cold under a white-hot tiara; a solid, cold
bosom under a white-hot necklace; great, cold, gloved arms, and the
rest of her beautifully upholstered. Amelia was an Amberson born,
herself, Sydney's second-cousin: they had no children, and Sydney was
without a business or a profession; thus both found a great deal of
time to think about the appropriateness of their becoming
Excellencies. And as George ascended the broad stairway, they were
precisely the aunt and uncle he was most pleased to point out, to a