Under the efficient management of Mme. Daquin, it was not long before they became adjusted physically to their new surroundings in Atlanta.
“I wish you’d stop calling me ‘Madam Daquin,’ ” she querulously demanded one day of Mimi. “I don’t want people here being reminded constantly we’re outsiders or think we’re trying to put on airs. Call me ‘ Mrs. Daquin’ or ‘mamma,’ or, if you insist on being high-toned, call me ‘mother.’ ”
Mimi vigorously protested, to herself and Jean, against either of the latter terms and compromised on “ Mrs. Daquin.”
Soon after their arrival they received formal calls. These came usually in the afternoon and were more or less elaborate ceremonials. Mrs. Hunter, willowy spouse of the president of the Lincoln Mutual Life Insurance Company, came with her husband the Sunday after they reached Atlanta. She was cordial—very cordial. Mimi wondered why Mrs. Hunter felt it necessary to implant a slightly moist kiss upon her lips, though she permitted herself to be fondled by the effusive one without audible or visible protest. She submitted and that was all.
“What a darling little girl you have, Mrs. Daquin!” she exclaimed. “And what’s her name?” On being told she went on: “Mimi? How very cute. Just like a stage name or opera.”
“That’s where it does come from. La Bohème . Do you know the opera?” Mimi assured her.
“No, I can’t say I do—no, I don’t believe I know that one,” Mrs. Hunter, somewhat embarrassed, answered. She did not feel altogether