He went out of the room, and closed the door behind him, but he did not go downstairs; he stood there in the dim and drafty hall, thinking. He had been going to show Mimi the right way to live, had he? He had brought her here, to this house, to these malarial mosquitoes, to this “nasty, unwholesome place.” He had made her eat her breakfast from a red and white checked cloth; he had deprived her of doilies and frilled curtains.
He had been the most heartless, the most presumptuous, priggish, despicable ass who had ever lived. Even his aunt had known better. His “plan”! It had served one purpose, though; it had shown him to Mimi as he really was, a blind, obstinate, humorless, cheerless—
She was coming up the stairs now; he knew her light, quick step. So he pretended that he was coming down, and in the middle of the flight they met.
“I was looking for you!” she announced cheerfully. “Dinner’s ready!”
He stood before her in silence for a few moments, his head bent; then suddenly he said:
“Mimi!”
Such a miserable voice!
“Oh, what’s the matter?” she cried, anxiously.
“I haven’t appreciated you!”
His tone was very contrite.