They asked him to call, and he did so without delay, the very day after they landed. And his fears were confirmed. They were poor. They had a flat over on the West Side, in the Chelsea district—the most pathetic flat!
In the sitting room there were two of the strangest bookcases, which Mrs. Dexter said she had herself made, out of packing cases. Enameled white, they were, with blue butterflies painted upon them by Mimi. And there was a couch, covered in gay cretonne, which, directly he had sat upon it, Hughes felt sure had also been made by Mrs. Dexter, perhaps out of barrel staves.
And everything was so dainty, and so neat, and so fragile. He could scarcely open his mouth all the evening, for the distress and compassion that filled him.
Now, Hughes did not know it, but he was really a young man. He had lived for twenty-six years, and he believed that those years had aged him and completely disillusioned him. But Mrs. Dexter knew better. She knew how young he was. She was sorry for him. She said so, to her daughter. She said:
“Poor Mr. Hughes! He’s such a nice boy!”
She had seen other nice boys come into that pathetic flat, and she knew what happened to them. She knew, better than any one else, what a dangerous creature her child was. She expected Mimi to smile at her words as if they were, somehow, a compliment, but, to her surprise, the girl turned away, and pretended to look out of the window.
“He—he is awfully nice, isn’t he?” Mimi remarked.
Mrs. Dexter could scarcely believe her senses. She looked and looked at her child, saw that dangerous head bent, heard that note of uncertainty in her voice. Mrs. Dexter no longer felt sorry for Mr. Hughes; on the contrary, she was suddenly inspired with an amazing insight into his character. She saw grave faults in him.
It might have been wiser if she had kept these revelations to herself, but where her child was concerned she was perhaps a little prejudiced. She had been a widow for many years, and had had nobody but this child to think about; and although she had long ago made up her mind that she must lose her some day, although she really wanted Mimi to marry some day, she did wish to have a voice in electing the husband when the time came.
She wished to make no unreasonable demands; this husband need not be extraordinarily handsome, or particularly famous; no, all she required was a man of ancient lineage, considerable wealth, lofty character, great intelligence, courtly manners, and a humble if not abject devotion to Mimi.