Now followed a succession of dinners, of theater- and opera-goings, of week-ends at the general's new country palace in the fashionable region of Long Island. All these festivities were of the same formal and tedious character. At all the general was the central sun with the others dim and draggled satellites, hardly more important than the outer rim of satellite servants. He did most of the talking; he was the sole topic of conversation; for when he was not talking about himself he wished to be hearing about himself. If Mildred had not been seeing more and more plainly that other and real personality of his, her contempt for him and for herself would have grown beyond control. But, with him or away from him, at every instant there was the sense of that other real William Siddall--a shadowy menace full of terror. She dreamed of it--was startled from sleep by visions of a monstrous and mighty distortion of the little general's grotesque exterior. "I shall marry him if I can," she said to her self. "But--can I?" And she feared and hoped that she could not, that courage would fail her, or would come to her rescue, whichever it was, and that she would refuse him. Aside from the sense of her body that cannot but be with any woman who is beautiful, she had never theretofore been especially physical in thought. That side of life had remained vague, as she had never indulged in or even been strongly tempted with the things that rouse it from its virginal sleep. But now she thought only of her body, because that it was, and that alone, that had drawn this prospective purchaser, and his eyes never let her forget it. She fell into the habit of looking at herself in the glass--at her face, at her shoulders, at her whole person, not in vanity but in a kind of wonder or aversion. And in the visions, both the waking and the sleeping, she reached the climax of horror when the monster touched her--with clammy, creepy fingers, with munching lips, with the sharp ends of the mustache or imperial. Said Mrs. Presbury to her husband, "I'm afraid the general will be irritated by Mildred's unresponsiveness." "Don't worry," replied Presbury. "He's so crazy about himself that he imagines the whole world is in the same state." "Isn't it strange that he doesn't give her presents? Never anything but candy and flowers." "And he never will," said Presbury. "Not until they're married, I suppose." Presbury was silent. "I can't help thinking that if Milly were to rouse herself and show some--some liking--or at least interest, it'd be wiser." "She's taking the best possible course," said Presbury. "Unconsciously to both of them, she's leading him on. He thinks that's the way a lady should act--restrained, refined."