"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."
Mildred's attitude was simple inertia. The most positive effort she made was avoiding saying or doing anything to displease him—no difficult matter, as she was silent and almost lifeless when he was near. Without any encouragement from her he gradually got a deep respect for her—which meant that he became convinced of her coldness and exclusiveness, of her absolute trustworthiness. Presbury was more profoundly right than he knew. The girl pursued the only course that made possible the success she longed for, yet dreaded and loathed. For at the outset Siddall had not been nearly so strongly in earnest in his matrimonial project as he had professed and had believed himself. He wished to marry, wished to add to his possessions the admirable show-piece and exhibition opportunity afforded by the right sort of wife; but in the bottom of his heart he felt that such a woman as he dreamed of did not exist in all the foolish, fickle, and shallow female sex. This girl—so cold, so proud, beautiful yet not eager to display her charms or to have them praised—she was the rare bird he sought.
In a month he asked her to marry him; that is, he said: "My dear, I find that I am ready to go the limit—if you are." And she assented. He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek—and was delighted to discover that the alluring embrace made no impression upon the ice of her "purity and ladylike dignity." Up to the very last moment of the formal courtship he held himself ready to withdraw should she reveal to his watchfulness the slightest sign of having any "unladylike" tendencies or feelings. She revealed no such sign, but remained "ladylike"; and certainly, so the general reasoned, a woman who could thus resist him, even in the license of the formal engagement, would resist anybody.
As soon as the engagement was formally concluded, the general hurried on the preparations for the wedding. He opened accounts at half a dozen shops in New York—dressmakers, milliners, dealers in fine and fashionable clothing of every kind—and gave them orders to execute whatever commands Miss Gower or her mother—for HER—might give them. When he told her of this munificence and magnificence and paused for the outburst of gratitude, he listened in vain. Mildred colored to the roots of her hair and was silent, was seeking the courage to refuse.