Carl’s aggressiveness vanished, a tortured, hurt look in his eyes.
“It’s best things go along this way, Mimi,” he pleaded. “If we can’t be the kind of friends we were, it’s wisest I stay away from you altogether.”
His earnestness, for some reason she could not explain; created within her a vague uneasiness. He went on hurriedly before she could speak, his voice lowered to prevent those near overhearing.
“I’ve done a lot of thinking during the last few weeks and I think you were right in breaking off our friendship. No, I don’t mean on account of Hilda—I wish I did care for her, it would make things easier. But I don’t and that’s all there is to it. I was happy with you, Mimi, because you made me content to go along and try to satisfy Dad by working. But now I see I was just fooling myself—I never will be an insurance man—”
“But, Carl, you’ve no right—” Mimi interrupted him.
“Right? What do I care about right? And who’s to say what is right for me and what isn’t? I’m no fool—I know pretty well what I’m doing and I know I’m a pretty rotten sort—you’ll know what I mean by that before long—as soon as the anvil chorus starts on me again.”
“Why don’t you come to see us any more, Carl? You know papa and I’ll always welcome, you.” Neither of them noticed that Mrs. Daquin had not been included.
“No—I’ve caused enough talk about you already,” he answered cryptically as he lost himself in the crowd. …
For many days Mimi thought of the talk she had had with Carl. Naturally his mysterious statements of the talk he was certain to create