But Mildred could not adopt this obviously excellent
advice. She sat silent and cold, while Presbury and
her mother raved and drew out the general to talk of
himself--the only subject in the whole world that
seemed to him thoroughly worth while. As Mildred
listened and furtively observed, it seemed to her that
this tiny fool, so obviously pleased by these coarse and
insulting flatteries, could not possibly have had the
brains to amass the vast fortune he apparently
possessed. But presently she noted that behind the
personality that was pleased by this gross fawning and
bootlicking there lay--lay in wait and on guard--
another personality, one that despised these guests of
his, estimating them at their true value and using them
contemptuously for the gratification of his coarse
appetites. In the glimpse she caught of that deeper and
real personality, she liked it even less than she liked
the one upon the surface.

It was evidence of superior acumen that she saw even
vaguely the real Bill Siddall, the money-maker, beneath
the General William Siddall, raw and ignorant and
vulgar--more vulgar in his refinement than the most
shocking bum at home and at ease in foul-smelling stew.
Every man of achievement hides beneath his surface--
personality this second and real man, who makes the
fortune, discovers the secret of chemistry, fights the
battle, carries the election, paints the picture, commits
the frightful murder, evolves the divine sermon or poem