favorite tactics. Terry had come armed with a theory.

He stepped forward, with his brilliant ingratiating smile, and
made low obeisance to the women before him. 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.
As they get older they pass off the stage, somehow, into private
ownership mostly, or out of it altogether. But these good
ladies were very much on the stage, and yet any one of them
might have been a grandmother.