resolves itself to little more than
the difference between those born mad and those who go insane.

Looking at the little man with the disagreeable eyes, so dull yet so
shrewd, Mildred saw that within the drunkard who could scarcely sit
straight upon the richly upholstered and carved gilt chair there was
another person, coldly sober, calmly calculating. And she realized
that it was this person with whom she was about to have the most
serious conversation of her life thus far.

The drunkard smiled with a repulsive wiping and smacking of the thin,
sensual lips. "I suppose you know why I had you brought here this
evening?" said he.

Mildred looked and waited.

"I didn't intend to say anything to-night. In fact, I didn't expect to
find in you what I've been looking for. I thought that old fool of a
stepfather of yours was cracking up his goods beyond their merits. But
he wasn't. My dear, you suit me from the ground up. I've been looking
you over carefully. You were made for the place I want to fill."

Mildred had lowered her eyes. Her face had become deathly pale. "I
feel faint," she murmured. "It is very warm here."

"You're not sickly?" inquired the general sharply. "You look like a
good solid woman--thin but wiry. Ever been sick? I must look into your
health. That's a point on which I must be satisfied."

A wave of anger swept through her, restoring her strength. She was
about to speak--a rebuke to his colossal impudence that he would not
soon forget. Then she remembered, and bit her lips.

"I don't ask you to decide to-night," pursued he, hastening to explain
this concession by adding: "I don't intend to decide, myself. All I
say is that I am willing--if the goods are up to the sample."

Mildred saw her stepfather and her mother watching from just within the
conservatory door. A movement of the portiere at the door into the
hall let her know that Darcy, the butler, was peeping and listening
there. She stood up, clenched her hands, struck them together, struck
them against her temples, crossed the room swiftly, flung herself down
upon a sofa, and burst into tears. Presbury and his wife entered.
Siddall was standing, looking after Mildred with a grin. He winked at
Presbury and said:

"I guess we gave her too much of that wine. It's all old and stronger
than you'd think."

"My daughter hardly touched her glasses," cried Mrs. Presbury.

"I know that, ma'am," replied Siddall. "I watched he