Flight

was little enough for her to do for Hilda who had been so loyal a friend. And it would be a service, too, for Hilda’s shyness would prevent her from ever indicating to Carl that she cared for him. She herself would hate to break off the companionship with Carl which had come to mean so much to them both and from which she had derived so much. His alert mind appealed to her, the reading he had done and the eager, lovable way in which he rushed to share with her anything he had come across in his reading which he thought would interest her, his keen interest in things other than those right under his nose, his quick and unforetellable changes of mood, at one minute happy and carefree and an excellent companion, at another changing abruptly to a serious-minded, at times morose and dissatisfied individual. With a woman’s love for the unusual, the unstable, the unforeseen, she was attracted by these various moods. She had grown tired of most of the other boys of her acquaintance, for she could tell in advance, almost to the exact words, what each of them would say under any given circumstance. She had never had this feeling with Carl and he seemed to be possessed of an unending and never uninteresting variety of humours, most of them of mercurial state.

But with all these varied characteristics there was among them nothing which even remotely resembled a tendency to become mushily sentimental. Here, too, he was different from the others. Mimi had learned on several unpleasant occasions the proneness of the youth she knew to wax tender often when there was not the slightest provocation or encouragement. Their friendship had never been marred in this fashion and that was the reason, Mimi was certain, it had grown so beautifully and naturally. It had been a frank, eager companionship based on mutual interests and mutual understanding.

No, it would not be easy to give up this friendship, but she owed it to Hilda, who, in her way and as one of her own sex, had been equally if not a better friend than Carl. Certainly their companionship had been of longer duration and therefore made greater demands upon the parties to it. She was glad now there had been no word of love nor even any thought of love between her and Carl. He had never entered her mind in this guise and she could soon forget him.

But could she? The thought made her pause in the smooth course of her reasoning. Now that Hilda had brought the fact tangibly to her consciousness, was it true that her feeling towards Carl was so wholly Platonic? She began to have her doubts. It wouldn’t be so easy to give him up as she at first so glibly promised herself and Hilda. Who would there be who could take his place⁠—who could interest her as Carl had done? Knowing the futility of attempting to answer a question when there was in her own mind no question existing, nevertheless she went slowly, painstakingly through the list of all the young men she knew. One by one she discarded them until she came to the point she knew she would reach⁠—only Carl remained.

Rousing herself from the lethargy into which the circle of thought had plunged her, she went back to her original determination to end the companionship at once. She felt like a squirrel who had been madly racing in one of the barbarous, treadmill cages, rushing, but always remaining at the same point. She would give Carl to Hilda⁠—she smiled irrelevantly at the conceit of physically handing over to another one who outweighed her by many pounds and end the stupid misunderstandings at one time. She smiled again at the gratification of those who had been gossiping about her and Carl⁠—they would smugly congratulate themselves that they had caused her to break off her friendship with him, little knowing how far from the truth they were. Well, let them smile, she concluded.

Mimi went down to supper filled with a warming sense of having done something noble, sacrificial. It pleased her to have this feeling, she almost felt for herself a little of the pity of martyrdom. It was this mood which enabled her to answer Mrs. Daquin’s elaborately casual bringing up of the scandal.

“Oh, by the way, Mimi, I’ve been hearing something about you and Carl Hunter that doesn’t sound so nice⁠—” Mrs. Daquin began.

Mimi smiled easily at her, even encouragingly, and went on eating.

This attitude was not at all what Mrs. Daquin had expected. She had looked for tears, violent storms, protestations. In truth, she had feared what might come and her fear had kept her from mentioning for several days the stories she had heard. She had laid her plans for a gentle, casual opening and had steeled herself for an outburst. Mimi’s placidity made her feel uncertain, rather foolish.

“Yes?” Mimi inquired sweetly, too sweetly Mrs. Daquin thought, when the opening was not followed up. “Just what did you hear?”

Mrs. Daquin looked appealingly at Jean but he to all outward signs was intently examining the plate of salad before him. No help obviously to be expected from that quarter, Mrs. Daquin braced herself and proceeded.

“They’re saying you and Carl were seen coming out of a disreputable dance hall one night last week⁠—”

“It’s true. What of it?” broke in Mimi.

“What of it? What of it?” Mrs. Daquin’s second interrogation was almost a thin scream. “Jean, do you hear what your daughter is saying? She brazenly admits she and that Hunter boy went to a disreputable, vile place and then she asks: ‘What of it?’ ”

Mrs. Daquin’s anger was fast mastering her, despite her previously determined plan to retain mastery of the situation through calmness and scorn. Mimi’s willing admission of her guilt, as Mrs. Daquin considered it, had taken some of the wind out of her sails. Or, better, instead of a strong head wind Mrs. Daquin’s craft