‘You have slept well?’ she inquired.
‘Excellently, my lady:
‘Yes, your daughter tells me she heard you, as she went by your door in the morning for a ride to meet my nephew. You are, I shall assume, prepared for business.’
‘Elizabeth?... to meet...?’ General Ople’s impression of anything extraneous to his emotion was feeble and passed instantly. ‘Prepared! Oh, certainly’; and he struck in a compliment on her ladyship’s fresh morning bloom.
‘It can hardly be visible,’ she responded; ‘I have not painted yet.’
‘Does your ladyship proceed to your painting in the very early morning?’
‘Rouge. I rouge.’
‘Dear me! I should not have supposed it.’
‘You have speculated on it very openly, General. I remember your trying to see a freckle through the rouge; but the truth is, I am of a supernatural paleness if I do not rouge, so I do. You understand, therefore, I have a false complexion. Now to business.’
‘If your ladyship insists on calling it business. I have little to offer—myself!’