The door was open and George heard her distinctly.
"Isabel does?
Isabel!" she exclaimed, her tone high and shrewish.

"You needn't tell me anything about Isabel Minafer, I guess, my dear old Frank Bronson! I know her a little better than you do, don't you think ?" George heard the voice of Mr.Bronson replying--a voice familiar to him as that of his grandfather's attorney-in-chief and chief intimate as well.

He was a contemporary of the Major's, being over seventy, and they had been through three years of the War in the same regiment.

Amelia addressed him now, with an effect of angry mockery, as "my dear old Frank Bronson"; but that (without the mockery) was how the Amberson family almost always spoke of him: "dear old Frank Bronson." He was a hale, thin old man, six feet three inches tall, and without a stoop.
"I doubt your knowing Isabel," he said stiffly.

"You speak of her as you do because she sides with her brother George, instead of with you and Sydney." "Pooh!" Aunt Amelia was evidently in a passion.