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.