“You poor, dear child!” Mrs. Hunter consoled her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hunter, but I don’t need any pity—it’s your son who needs it more,” Mimi told her. Her voice was hard, flat, cold.
Mrs. Hunter was not to be deterred. “But you and Carl must get married right away and save your name. When the baby’s nearly here, you two can go off on a long trip. Oh, dear, I’m so terribly upset—I almost feel like I’m the guilty one, pleading with you to save him—”
Back and forth the discussion raged. Mr. Hunter urged. His wife pleaded. Mrs. Daquin stormed. But Mimi remained firm. …
After they had gone Mrs. Daquin took her turn.
“You silly little fool. You’re crazy. You’re going to get these crazy notions out of your head and marry Carl. I never in all my life heard of so silly a thing as this idea of yours. What if Carl is a weak and worthless scamp? Any kind of a man for a husband is better than none when a girl’s in your fix. …”
On and on she went, denouncing, pleading, scorning, appealing.
Mimi listened to the Niagara of words but they served only to make her more determined to do as she had declared she would. Jean’s words came to her—the advice he had given her long ago as they were about to leave New Orleans—“decide in your own mind the wisest, the best thing to be done, and then do it.” As she looked at the four faces she wondered what Jean would say if he were here now. Even as Mrs. Daquin stormed, Mimi knew there was much right in what she said. She would be condemned, her name derided. She knew she could not remain in Atlanta. Even if she could, the looks of disdain, the insults, would be unbearable. They had done that for years to the girl Carl had been going to see and they had had no definite proof on her of wrong doing.