“You’re depressed and worried—there’s no need giving in to what these people say. Just face it and it will all blow over. And I’ll stick with you always, Mimi.”
Mrs. Rogers watched Mimi, more worried over the girl’s troubles than she would admit even to herself. In a few months Mimi had become a part and a very important part of the household. Younger people came and she had always preferred associating with young people. “It keeps me young, too,” she would say when the subject was mentioned. The house would be unbearable if Mimi went away or did anything desperate. She feared this though she laughed at her fears. But the set look on Mimi’s face, the despondency which was greater now than when Mimi had first come to New York after putting Petit Jean in the orphanage, the utter dejection so evident in Mimi’s face and body, made her definitely apprehensive.
“You’re a darling, Aunt Sophie, but I just can’t stick it out. I can stand a lot of things I’ve had to—but what’s happened here will just keep on happening every place I go. I’ve tried to go straight—God knows I have. But these meddling people won’t let me have any peace. Do you remember that night at the dance you pointed out a girl to me who was working down town, passing for white?”
Mrs. Rogers admitted she had, but wondered what that had to do with Mimi.
“Just this,” was the answer she received. “I never thought I’d want to leave my own people. I wouldn’t leave them now but they’ve driven me away—driven me to the point where I’ve either got to drop out of sight where I won’t be hounded again or else I’ll do something terrible. If that girl can pass I think I can too. My name is French, I speak French—at least well enough to fool anybody who isn’t French—I can sew, and they’ll never think me anything else but French. I’ll see you, of course,