'Madam, my lady, I was saying—hem!—Angela, I could not wish to withdraw.'
Lady Camper leaned with some pressure on his arm, observing, 'You have a curious attachment to antiquities.'
'My dear lady, it is your mind; I say, it is your mind: I was saying, I am in love with your mind,' the General endeavoured to assure her, and himself too.
'Or is it my powers as an artist?'
'Your mind, your extraordinary powers of mind.'
'Well,' said Lady Camper, 'a veteran General of Brigade is as good a crutch as a childless old grannam can have.'
And as a crutch, General Ople, parading her grounds with the aged woman, found himself used and treated.
The accuracy of his perceptions might be questioned. He was like a man stunned by some great tropical fruit, which responds to the longing of his eyes by falling on his head; but it appeared to him, that she increased in bitterness at every step they took, as if determined to make him realize her wrinkles.
He was even so inconsequent, or so little recognized his position, as to object in his heart to hear himself called Wilson.
It is true that she uttered Wilsonople as if the names formed one word.
And on a second occasion (when he inclined to feel hurt) she remarked,
'I fear me, Wilsonople, if we are to speak plainly, thou art but a fool.'
He, perhaps, naturally objected to that. He was, however, giddy, and
barely knew.