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.’