“Unstrung? Give the baby a clean name? After what you just suggested? You’ll do nothing of the sort! I’m going to have this baby, do you hear me? I’m going to have him and he’s going to be all mine . I guess he can get along lots easier with just a bad name than he can with a cowardly father—”
“Mimi, you don’t know what you’re saying!” Carl, now thoroughly alarmed, pleaded. “We’ve got to get married!”
“Got to? Well, we haven’t got to and we won’t! I’ll get along somehow, don’t you worry, but all the love I had for you has turned to black hate! This baby’ll be mine—all mine!”
She rushed from the room, leaving him standing there. …
Safe in her room, she let the tears she had fought so hard to check in the parlour below flow without hindrance. As from a distance, she heard the front door slam and she breathed more easily, knowing Carl was no longer in the house.
She wondered why she had acted as she had, knowing as she did the full reason. Bitterness filled her as she went again and again over the scene just ended. Faith, deep, unlimited, had been killed. A bitter laugh mingled with her tears. She saw Carl now for the insincere poseur that he was—him whom she had thought decent and clean. For the first time there came over her a sense of shame—a feeling of guilt. She wondered how Mrs. Daquin would take it. Mimi determined resolutely that if there were a scene or recriminations of any sort she would leave and never return.
From below came the sound of Mrs. Daquin’s voice, calling her. Mimi dried her tears away and went down. Mr. and Mrs. Hunter sat in the parlour. Behind them stood Carl, his head down. Mrs. Hunter rose and attempted to take Mimi in her arms. Mimi evaded her.