Ordinarily this heavy ideal of her sex did not
burden Milly. She obeyed her thoroughly healthy instincts, chief of
which was "to have a good time," to be loved and petted by people. But
occasionally in her more emotional moods, when she was singing hymns or
watching the sun depart in golden mists, she experienced exalted
sensations of the beauty and the glory of life--of _her_ life--and what
it all might mean to Some One (a man).
When she undressed before the tiny mirror, she considered her attractive
young body with a delicious sense of mystery that would some day be
revealed, then plunged into bed, and buried herself chastely beneath the
cover, her heart throbbing.
If Milly had had any real education, she might have recalled the
teaching of science in such moments and realized that her soft tissue
was composed of common elements, her special function was but a
universal means to a universal end; that even her long, thick hair with
its glint of gold, her soft eyes, her creamy skin and rounding breasts
and sloping thighs were all designed for the simple purpose of
continuing the species. (But in those days they did not talk of such
things even in the handbooks, and Milly would have called any one who
dared mention them in her presence a "materialist"--a word she had heard
in the philosophy class.) Having no one to mention to her such improper
truths, she remained in the pleasant illusion of literature and religion
that she was altogether a superior creation,--something mysterious to be
worshipped and preserved.
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