Into this new life Carl came with much larger importance than Mimi had supposed was possible. In time Mrs. Daquin, who had never been able to find out from Mimi the purpose of Mrs. Hunter’s mysterious call but who had linked it up after a fashion with Carl and Mimi, offered no objection to Carl’s visits to the house. This lack of hostility changed in time to actual welcome due to the increased cordiality of Mrs. Hunter towards Mrs. Daquin which the latter sensed was in large measure because of his visits. This welcome was strengthened by Carl’s evident reformation. No longer was he seen with questionable companions. He had not been seen under the influence of liquor since he had begun again to visit Mimi, and every Sunday now he was to be seen with his parents and sister at church.
The old comradeship, deepened and enriched in a subtle but unmistakable way, was returning. Memory of that night during which so much had taken place, their reunion, Jean’s death and all the rest, had kept them from the torridity of feeling which had swept over them then. Instead there was a comforting sense of unity which ripened and deepened through the unspoken avowals of their love that flashed between them whenever they met.
This feeling was always deepest as they walked out in the evening. During the latter part of September and the early part of October there had been many crisply cold nights. Dying October and budding November brought that year balmy nights and pleasant days that were reminiscent of late summer. Through the darkened streets they strolled arm in arm. Here and there were street lamps which shed little light more than to a radius of fifteen or twenty feet. Back in tidy little yards sat squat little houses or imposing two-storied ones with an occasional light peeping from them in friendly manner. Up above, a moon, slender and graceful like a fragile, spreading horseshoe of coruscation, or full-bodied and vigorous in its yellowish brilliance. Mimi always liked the new moon best—it stirred her by its slender grace. But Carl preferred the full ones—“no wonder the Greeks and Romans gave a ‘corona’ as a badge of victory—those old boys were poets, and real ones—they saw that there could be no greater beauty and splendour than in an award resembling that band of light up yonder.”
It was not long before they were accepted as “going together.” With the ready forgiveness accorded a man who has transgressed against local codes of conduct, Carl’s derelictions of the past were forgotten, or, if not forgotten, thrust into that indefinite realm of things not to be mentioned again save in most intimate conversations. It was assumed that, now Jean was dead, Mimi would soon be marrying, and the assumption more or less naturally followed that she would marry Carl.
Between them, however, there was no thought of tomorrow nor, for some inexplicable reason, did there come to their ears the now friendly discussions regarding what they would do which were going on. They floated along happily on the stream of their newfound contentment, as oblivious of the future as two bits of wood held together by a string on the bosom of some placid pond. On rainy nights or evenings when Mimi did not feel like walking or going to a moving-picture show, they sat at home, Carl talking or reading some bit of verse, or some story he had come across, while Mimi sat and sewed or just sat. Carl’s restlessness had almost left him, he seemed more contented, he now actually took a deeper interest in the work his father wanted him to do. More and more there entered his conversations his plans, his hopes, his eagerness to please his father. Mimi learned that even under his former discontent there was a deep respect and a sort of affection that Carl had for his father. She saw that the older man’s will worked with great effect upon that of his son—too much so, she feared. …
Early in November she found that this was even more true than she had suspected. One morning she was awakened by a dream. In it she saw Jean again, standing beside her bed, his eyes sad, his finger pointing accusingly at her. No word came from his lips, but his face had on it an expression she had never seen in life, one that made her shrink from it into the warm, comforting embrace of the bedclothes. She lay awake and then fell again into troubled slumber.
When she awoke she felt a violent nausea and a dizziness that made her glad to lie down again. She called Mrs. Daquin, who listened to her recital of her ailments and then gave her some medicine, advising her to remain in bed. Later Mrs. Daquin brought her breakfast and sat with her as she toyed with it, eating little. It’s nice of her to do this, thought Mimi. She’s getting more lovable every day.
As she still felt badly in the afternoon, Mimi went at her stepmother’s suggestion to see Dr. Adams. A few questions, an examination, and then Dr. Adams looked gravely at Mimi.
“You’re going to have a baby, Mimi,” he told her.
Mimi gasped, echoing his words. A great happiness filled her, happiness mingled with a sweeping flame of love for Carl. A baby! Hers and Carl’s! Her face shone with a great light, the light of contentment and love. There was no feeling of shame nor could she clearly understand why Dr. Adams’ face should remain so grave and worried. On that eventful night she and Carl had been caught up and swept on by a great tide of passion, an emotion overwhelming, beautiful, sacred. She had given of herself freely,
