Her Aunt Sophie was, she found, gifted with a fund of hard common sense but with it she possessed a warmth of feeling that made Mimi know the older woman understood all her difficulties without the necessity of putting into words her various moods. Mr. Rogers had held for a number of years before his death a responsible position in a bank down town. He had left his widow some money and a few shares of stock in various corporations that brought her a steady, but small, income. By practice of rigid economy Mrs. Rogers could have lived in fairly comfortable circumstances but she was unwilling to do this. She had married young and was of a more progressive nature than her brother, although she understood Jean as well as had Margot. After her husband’s death Mrs. Rogers had taken a course in manicuring, massaging and the treatment of the hair and scalp. She then had opened a small “beauty parlour,” from which she derived a small income after all expenses were paid. Best of all, it kept her busy, and that was of greater importance to her than the money she earned. With a widowed sister of her husband she kept a small flat near Lenox Avenue, and it was to this she welcomed Mimi. …
The morning after her arrival Mimi had a long talk with her aunt.
“You’ve had a hard time, Mimi,” the older woman said. “You’ve made what people call a serious mistake—it’s not for me to judge you nor am I going to. If you did, you’ve paid for it—and you’ve done a mighty brave thing, to my way of thinking, in sticking it out as you have. Your problem now as I see it is to forget the past and decide what you’re going to do with your future. You’re young yet—just twenty-one, aren’t you?—you’re much better-looking than the average. The best part of your life’s ahead of you. The question you’ve got to decide is what you’re going to do with it, make it fruitful and full and happy? Or let the past swallow you up?”
She paused while Mimi sat in thought.
“Jean—and his future count much more than mine, Aunt Sophie.”
“Yes, I know how you feel. What I’m going to say may sound mighty hard and unfeeling but you know I don’t feel that way. With Jean you’ll be so handicapped you’ll settle into a rut out of which you’ll probably never emerge. He’s well fed, he’s sheltered, he’s clothed, he’s being trained, educated. He hasn’t your care and training, I know, but working all day, you wouldn’t be able to give him much attention if he were with you. … In Philadelphia you by some miracle were able to avoid meddling inquiry about Jean’s parentage. Here you wouldn’t be so successful, I know. There are gossips everywhere—and in every race. So my advice is to let Jean stay there a few years, run down to see him whenever you can afford it, and get to the place where you can have Jean with you again. And—who knows?—perhaps the right man—”
“No, no, Aunt Sophie. That’s all done for now. I’m through with men—”
Mrs. Rogers smiled. “You say that now. But wait awhile. Youth and especially youth like yours can work wonders. Standards are changing—New York isn’t New Orleans or Atlanta—the man who may come may have sense enough to see what’s back of your—well, your so-called misfortune. Men are simple creatures after all though we women make of them in our own minds an insoluble riddle.”
Wise in the ways of the world, tolerant and understanding of human foibles and weaknesses, Mrs. Rogers smiled reminiscently.
“I’ve seen lots of things in my time, Mimi, and I’ve learned a lot of things, too. There are some people whose notion of getting along in the world is to butt their brains out against the walls that come up in front of them. Others go to the other extreme and dodge every obstacle, taking the easiest way out. Maybe they’re both right—but I doubt it. The best way is to hold on to your ideals, yield only when you have to, but keep that thing we call our soul intact, no matter what we go up against.”
She toyed with the handle of her coffee-cup ruminatively.
“Take men, for example. Mr. Rogers and I had our times of disagreement, every married couple does. Much as I loved him, there were times when he irritated me so I could almost cheerfully have choked him. But I learned soon how to handle him—and when all’s said and done, all men are alike—they differ in little ways but, by and large, they’re the same. One of the things I learned was this—never, never argue with a man. On the other hand, don’t fall into agreement too easily with his opinions. If you always insist you’re right—even if you are and you know it—he’ll think you stubborn and mulish and you stir up all sorts of stubbornness in him. And if you always agree with him he’ll think you’re soft and weak and silly. But if you express an opinion different from what you’re sure is right and then—not too easily let him convince you of the error of your reasoning—then, my dear, he’ll be putty in your hands!”
“But suppose he should have the same opinion as your wrong one—what then?” Mimi inquired, interested in spite of herself in the philosophy her aunt was unfolding.
“Then exercise a
