Then he produced
another tribute, a broad soft scarf of filmy texture, rich in color
and pattern, a lovely thing, even to my eye, and offered it with
a deep bow to the tall unsmiling woman who seemed to head the ranks
before him. She took it with a gracious nod of acknowledgment,
and passed it on to those behind her.
He tried again, this time bringing out a circlet of rhinestones,
a glittering crown that should have pleased any woman on earth.
He made a brief address, including Jeff and me as partners in his
enterprise, and with another bow presented this. Again his gift
was accepted and, as before, passed out of sight.
"If they were only younger," he muttered between his teeth.
"What on earth is a fellow to say to a regiment of old Colonels
like this?"
In all our discussions and speculations we had always
unconsciously assumed that the women, whatever else they might be,
would be young. Most men do think that way, I fancy.
"Woman" in the abstract is young, and, we assume, charming.
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