General Ople winced.

He was about to say humbly, ‘As General of Brigade . . .’

’Yes, yes, you want a commanding officer, and that I have seen, and that has caused me to meditate on your proposal,’ she interrupted him; while he, studying her countenance hard, with the painful aspect of a youth who lashes a donkey memory in an examination by word of mouth, attempted to marshal her signs of younger years against her awful confession of the extremely ancient, the witheringly ancient.  But for the manifest rouge, manifest in spite of her declaration that she had not yet that morning proceeded to her paintbrush, he would have thrown down his glove to challenge her on the subject of her age.  She had actually charms.  Her mouth had a charm; her eyes were lively; her figure, mature if you like, was at least full and good; she stood upright, she had a queenly seat.  His mental ejaculation was, ‘What a wonderful constitution!’

By a lapse of politeness, he repeated it to himself half aloud; he was shockingly nervous.

‘Yes, I have finer health than many a younger woman,’ she said.  ’An ordinary calculation would give me twenty good years to come.  I am a widow, as you know.  And, by the way, you have a leaning for widows.  Have you not?  I thought I had heard of a widow Barcop in this parish.  Do not protest.  I assure you I am a stranger to jealousy.  My income . . .’

The General raised his hands.

‘Well, then,’ said the cool and self-contained lady, ’before I go farther, I may ask you, knowing what you have forced me to confess, are you still of the same mind as to marriage?  And one moment, General.  I promise you most sincerely that your withdrawing a step shall not, as far as it touches me, affect my neighbourly and friendly sentiments; not in any degree.  Shall we be as we were?’

Lady Camper extended her delicate hand to him.

He took it respectfully, inspected the aristocratic and unshrunken fingers, and kissing them, said, ’I never withdraw from a position, unless I am beaten back.  Lady Camper, I . . .’

‘My name is Angela.’

The General tried again:  he could not utter the name.

To call a lady of seventy Angela is difficult in itself.  It is, it seems, thrice difficult in the way of courtship.

‘Angela!’ said she.

’Yes.  I say, there is not a more beautiful female name, dear Lady Camper.’

’Spare me that word “female” as long as you live.  Address me by that name, if you please.’

The General smiled.  The smile was meant for propitiation and sweetness.  It became a brazen smile.

‘Unless you wish to step back,’ said she.

’Indeed, no.  I am happy, Lady Camper.  My life is yours.  I say, my life is devoted to you, dear madam.’

‘Angela!’

General Ople was blushingly delivered of the name.

‘That will do,’ said she.  ’And as I think it possible one may be admired too much as an artist, I must request you to keep my number of years a secret.’