It was not long before Mimi knew in greater detail the reasons for Mrs. Hunter’s apprehension. Like a great orchestra beginning pianissimo upon a symphony, the tongues started clacking in soft and cryptic whisperings. Carl, with reckless disregard of the conventions, made no attempt to conceal his derelictions, his wandering from the ultra-strict codes which governed his family and the set in which it moved. He gave the prying eyes and clattering tongues an abundance of fuel, his flaunting of local standards serving much as the upward sweep of a conductor’s baton would draw forth a great swelling tone from his players. Carl was seen no more at church despite several acrimonious discussions on the subject with his father. Twice he was seen at a moving-picture show with a girl who was déclassée—years before, her name had been linked in somewhat opprobrious fashion with that of a married man of the town. It was true no proof had been produced of any wrongdoing on their part and, as was the usual custom in such affairs, the man’s connection with the embryonic scandal had been long since forgotten. With the passage of years the blot on her name had grown through the very indefiniteness of the original rumour. For years she had been considered by the good Christians of the town almost as though her offence had been that of being “a fancy woman.”
Carl had known the girl for many years, as long, in fact, as he could remember. When Mimi had refused to see him, he had by chance met and talked with the girl one day and she had interested him. Even when he said to her one day: “Why haven’t we been friendly all these years?” she had made no defence of her reputation nor had she complained of the years of ostracism she had undergone. Had she done either of these, Carl’s interest in her would probably have died instantly. Knowing in a hazy sort of way of her story, he was attracted by her calm acceptance of