近期热门的优选书刊《飘》，轻松有趣温柔的治愈你

今日推荐：《飘（中文导读英文版）（下部）》 作者：王勋;纪飞。搜索书名开始观看吧～

-----精选段落-----
第四部分
“Well, that"s too bad. I guess they wouldn"t know it themselves if they saw it, for it shore is torn up on the inside.Now, you go on in, Ma"m, and ask for the captain.”
She went up the steps, caressing the broken white banisters, and pushed open the front door. The hall was dark and as cold as a vault and a shivering sentry was leaning against the closed folding doors of what had been, in better days, the dining room.
“I want to see the captain，”she said.
He pulled back the doors and she entered the room, her heart beating rapidly, her face flushing with embarrassment and excitement. There was a close stuffy smell in the room, compounded of the smoking fire, tobacco fumes, leather, damp woolen uniforms and unwashed bodies.She had a confused impression of bare walls with torn wallpaper, rows of blue overcoats and slouch hats hung on nails, a roaring fire, a long table covered with papers and a group of officers in blue uniforms with brass buttons.
She gulped once and found her voice. She mustn"t let these Yankees know she was afraid.She must look and be her prettiest and most unconcerned self.
“The captain？”
“I"m one captain，”said a fat man whose tunic was unbuttoned.
“I want to see a prisoner, Captain Rhett Butler.”
“Butler again？He"s popular, that man，”laughed the captain, taking a chewed cigar from his mouth.“You a relative, Ma"m？”
“Yes—his—his sister.”
He laughed again.
“He"s got a lot of sisters, one of them here yesterday.”
Scarlett flushed. One of those creatures Rhett consorted with, probably that Watling woman.And these Yankees thought she was another one.It was unendurable.Not even for Tara would she stay here another minute and be insulted.She turned to the door and reached angrily for the knob but another officer was by her side quickly.He was clean shaven and young and had merry, kind eyes.
“Just a minute, Ma"m. Won"t you sit down here by the fire where it"s warm？I"ll go see what I can do about it.What is your name？He refused to see the—lady who called yesterday.”
She sank into the proffered chair, glaring at the discomfited fat captain, and gave her name. The nice young officer slipped on his overcoat and left the room and the others took themselves off to the far end of the table where they talked in low tones and pawed at the papers.She stretched her feet gratefully toward the fire, realizing for the first time how cold they were and wishing she had thought to put a piece of cardboard over the hole in the sole of one slipper.After a time, voices murmured outside the door and she heard Rhett"s laugh.The door opened, a cold draft swept the room and Rhett appeared, hatless, a long cape thrown carelessly across his shoulders.He was dirty and unshaven and without a cravat but somehow jaunty despite his dishabille, and his dark eyes were snapping joyfully at the sight of her.
“Scarlett！”
He had her hands in both of his and, as always, there was something hot and vital and exciting about his grip. Before she quite knew what he was about, he had bent and kissed her cheek, his mustache tickling her.As he felt the startled movement of her body away from him, he hugged her about the shoulders and said：“My darling little sister！”and grinned down at her as if he relished her helplessness in resisting his caress.She couldn"t help laughing back at him for the advantage he had taken.What a rogue he was！
Jail had notchanged him one bit.
The fat captain was muttering through his cigar to the merry-eyed officer.
“Most irregular. He should be in the firehouse.You know the orders.”
“Oh, for God"s sake, Henry！The lady would freeze in that barn.”
“Oh, all right, all right！It"s your responsibility.”
“I assure you, gentlemen，”said Rhett, turning to them but still keeping a grip on Scarlett"s shoulders，“my—sister hasn"t brought me any saws or files to help me escape.”
They all laughed and, as they did, Scarlett looked quickly about her. Good Heavens, was she going to have to talk to Rhett before six Yankee officers！Was he so dangerous a prisoner they wouldn"t let him out of their sight？Seeing her anxious glance, the nice officer pushed open a door and spoke brief low words to two privates who had leaped to their feet at his entrance.They picked up their rifles and went out into the hall, closing the door behind them.
“If you wish, you may sit here in the orderly room，”said the young captain.“And don"t try to bolt through that door. The men are just outside.”
“You see what a desperate character I am, Scarlett，”said Rhett.“Thank you, Captain. This is most kind of you.”
He bowed carelessly and taking Scarlett"s arm pulled her to her feet and propelled her into the dingy orderly room. She was never to remember what the room looked like except that it was small and dim and none too warm and there were hand-written papers tacked on the mutilated walls and chairs which had cowhide seats with the hair still on them.
When he had closed the door behind them, Rhett came to her swiftly and bent over her. Knowing his desire, she turned her head quickly but smiled provocatively at him out of the corners of her eyes.
“Can"t I really kiss you now？”
“On the forehead, like a good brother，”she answered demurely.
“Thank you, no. I prefer to wait and hope for better things.”His eyes sought her lips and lingered there a moment.“But how good of you to come to see me, Scarlett！You ate the first respectable citizen who has called on me since my incarceration, and being in jail makes one appreciate friends.When did you come to town？”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“And you came out this morning？Why, my dear, you are more than good.”He smiled down at her with the first expression of honest pleasure she had ever seen on his face. Scarlett smiled inwardly with excitement and ducked her head as if embarrassed.
“Of course, I came out right away. Aunt Pitty told me about you last night and I—I just couldn"t sleep all night for thinking how awful it was.Rhett, I"m so distressed！”
“Why, Scarlett！”
His voice was soft but there was a vibrant note in it, and looking up into his dark face she saw in it none of the skepticism, the jeering humor she knew so well. Before his direct gaze her eyes fell again in real confusion.Things were going even better than she hoped.
“It"s worth being in jail to see you again and to hear you say things like that. I really couldn"t believe my ears when they brought me your name.You see, I never expected you to forgive me for my patriotic conduct that night on the road near Rough and Ready.But I take it that this call means you have forgiven me？”
She could feel swift anger stir, even at this late date, as she thought of that night but she subdued it and tossed her head until the earrings danced.
“No, I haven"t forgiven you，”she said, and pouted.
“Another hope crushed. And after I offered up myself for my country and fought barefooted in the snow at Franklin and got the finest case of dysentery you ever heard of for my pains！”
“I don"t want to hear about your—pains，”she said, still pouting but smiling at him from tip-tilted eyes.“I still think you were hateful that night and I never expect to forgive you. Leaving me alone like that when anything might have happened to me！”
“But nothing did happen to you. So, you see, my confidence in you was justified.I knew you"d get home safely and God help any Yankee who got in your way！”
“Rhett, why on earth did you do such a silly thing—enlisting at the last minute when you knew we were going to get licked？And after all you"d saidabout idiots who went out and got shot！”
“Scarlett, spare me！I am always overcome with shame when I think about it.”
“Well, I"m glad to learn you are ashamed of the way you treated me.”
“You misunderstand. I regret to say that my conscience has not troubled me at all about deserting you.But as for enlisting—when I think of joining the army in varnished boots and a white linen suit and armed with only a pair of dueling pistols—And those long cold miles in the snow after my boots wore out and I had no overcoat and nothing to eat……I cannot understand why I did not desert.It was all the purest insanity.But it"s in one"s blood.Southerners can never resist a losing cause.But never mind my reasons.It"s enough that I"m forgiven.”
“You"re not. I think you"re a hound.”But she caressed the last word until it might have been“darling.”
“Don"t fib. You"ve forgiven me.Young ladies don"t dare Yankee sentries to see a prisoner, just for charity"s sweet sake, and come all dressed up in velvet and feathers and seal muffs too.Scarlett, how pretty you look！Thank God, you aren"t in rags or mourning！I get so sick of women in dowdy old clothes and perpetual crêpe.You look like the Rue de la Paix.Turn around, my dear, and let me look at you.”
So he had noticed the dress. Of course, he would notice such things, being Rhett.She laughed in soft excitement and spun about on her toes, her arms extended, her hoops tilting up to show her lace trimmed pantalets.His black eyes took her in from bonnet to heels in a glance that missed nothing, that old impudent unclothing glance which always gave her goose bumps.
“You look very prosperous and very, very tidy. And almost good enough to eat.If it wasn"t for the Yankees outside—but you are quite safe, my dear.Sit down.I won"t take advantage of you as I did the last time I saw you.”He rubbed his cheek with pseudo ruefulness.“Honestly, Scarlett, don"t you think you were a bit selfish that night？Think of all I had done for you, risked my life—stolen a horse—and such a horse！
Rushed to the defense of Our Glorious Cause！And what did I get for my pains？Some hard words and a very hard slap in the face.”
She sat down. The conversation was not going in quite the direction she hoped.He had seemed so nice when he first saw her, so genuinely glad she had come.He had almost seemed like a human being and not the perverse wretch she knew so well.
“Must you always get something for your pains？”
“Why, of course！I am a monster of selfishness, as you ought to know. I always expect payment for anything I give.”
That sent a slight chill through her but she rallied and jingled her earbobs again.
“Oh, you really aren"t so bad, Rhett. You just like to show off.”
“My word, but you have changed！”he said and laughed.“What has made a Christian of you？I have kept up with you through Miss Pittypat but she gave me no intimation that you had developed womanly sweetness. Tell me more about yourself, Scarlett.What have you been doing since I last saw you？”
The old irritation and antagonism which he roused in her was hot in her heart and she yearned to speak tart words. But she smiled instead and the dimple crept into her cheek.He had drawn a chair close beside hers and she leaned over and put a gentle hand on his arm, in an unconscious manner.
“Oh, I"ve been doing nicely, thank you, and everything at Tara is fine now. Of course, we had a dreadful time right after Sherman went through but, after all, he didn"t burn the house and the darkies saved most of the livestock by driving it into the swamp.And we cleared a fair crop this last fall, twenty bales.Of course, that"s practically nothing compared with what Tara can do but we haven"t many field hands.Pa says, of course, we"ll do better next year.But, Rhett, it’s so dull in the country now！
Imagine, there aren’t any balls or barbecues and the only thing people talk about is hard times！Goodness, I get sick of it！Finally last week I got too bored to stand it any longer, so Pa said I must take a trip and have a good time.So I came up here to get me some frocks made and then I’m going over to Charleston to visit my aunt.It’ll be lovely to go to balls again.”
There, she thought with pride, I delivered that with just the right airy way！Not too rich but certainly not poor.
“You look beautiful in ball dresses, my dear, and you know it too, worseluck！I suppose the real reason you are going visiting is that you have run through the County swains and are seeking fresh ones in fields afar.”
Scarlett had a thankful thought that Rhett had spent the last several months abroad and had only recently come back to Atlanta. Otherwise, he would never have made so ridiculous a statement.She thought briefly of the County swains, the ragged embittered little Fontaines, the poverty-stricken Munroe boys, the Jonesboro and Fayetteville beaux who were so busy plowing, splitting rails and nursing sick old animals that they had forgotten such things as balls and pleasant flirtations ever existed.But she put down this memory and giggled self-consciously as if admitting the truth of his assertion.
“Oh, well，”she said deprecatingly.
“You are a heartless creature, Scarlett, but perhaps that"s part of your charm.”He smiled in his old way, one corner of his mouth curving down, but she knew he was complimenting her.“For, of course, you know you have more charm than the law should permit. Even I have felt it, case-hardened though I am.I"ve often wondered what it was about you that made me always remember you, for I"ve known many ladies who were prettier than you and certainly more clever and, I fear, morally more upright and kind.But, somelw, I always remembered you.Even during the months since the surrender when I was in France and England and hadn"t seen you or heard of you and was enjoying the society of many beautiful ladies, I always remembered you and wondered what you were doing.”
For a moment she was indignant that he should say other women were prettier, more clever and kind than she, but that momentary flare was wiped out in her pleasure that he had remembered her and her charm. So he hadn"t forgotten！That would make things easier.And he was behaving so nicely, almost like a gentleman under the circumstances.Now, all she had to do was bring the subject around to himself, so she could intimate that she had not forgotten him either and then—
She gently squeezed his arm and dimpled again.
“Oh, Rhett, how you do run on, teasing a country girl like me！I know mighty well you never gave me a thought after you left me that night. You can"t tell me you ever thought of me with all those pretty French and English girlsaround you.But I didn"t come all the way out here to hear you talk foolishness about me.I came—I came—because—”
“Because？”
“Oh, Rhett, I"m so terribly distressed about you！So frightened for you！When will they let you out of that terrible place？”
He swiftly covered her hand with his and held it hard against his arm.
“Your distress does you credit. There"s no telling when I"ll be out.Probably when they"ve stretched the rope a bit more.”
“The rope？”
“Yes, I expect to make my exit from here at the rope"s end.”
“They won"t really hang you？”
“They will if they can get a little more evidence against me.”
“Oh, Rhett！”she cried, her hand at her heart.
“Would you be sorry？If you are sorry enough, I"ll mention you in my will.”
His dark eyes laughed at her recklessly and he squeezed her hand.
His will！She hastily cast down her eyes for fear of betrayal but not swiftly enough, for his eyes gleamed, suddenly curious.
“According to the Yankees, I ought to have a fine will. There seems to be considerable interest in my finances at present.Every day, I am hauled up before another board of inquiry and asked foolish questions.The rumor seems current that I made off with the mythical gold of the Confederacy.”
“Well—did you？”
“What a leading question！You know as well as I do that the Confederacy ran a printing press instead of a mint.”
“Where did you get all your money？Speculating？Aunt Pittypat said—”
“What probing questions you ask！”
Damn him！Of course, he had the money. She was so excited it became difficult to talk sweetly to him.
“Rhett, I"m so upset about your being here. Don"t you think there"s a chance of your getting out？”
“‘Nihil desperandum"is my motto.”
“What does that mean？”
“It means‘maybe"，my charming ignoramus.”
She fluttered her thick lashes up to look at him and fluttered them down again.
“Oh, you"re too smart to let them hang you！I know you"ll think of some clever way to beat them and get out！And when you do—”
“And when I do？”he asked softly, leaning closer.
“Well, I—”and she managed a pretty confusion and a blush. The blush was not difficult for she was breathless and her heart was beating like a drum.“Rhett, I"m so sorry about what I—I said to you that night—you know—at Rough and Ready.I was—oh, so very frightened and upset and you were so—so—”She looked down and saw his brown hand tighten over hers.“And—I thought then that I"d never, never forgive you！
But when Aunt Pitty told me yesterday that you—that they might hang you—it came over me of a sudden and I—I—”She looked up into his eyes with one swift imploring glance and in it she put an agony of heartbreak.“Oh, Rhett, I"d die if they hanged you！I couldn"t bear it！You see, I—”And, because she could no longer sustain the hot leaping light that was in his eyes, her lids fluttered down again.
In a moment I"ll be crying, she thought in a frenzy of wonder and excitement. Shall I let myself cry？Would that seem more natural？
He said quickly：“My God, Scarlett, you can"t mean that you—”and his hands closed over hers in so hard a grip that it hurt.
She shut her eyes tightly, trying to squeeze out tears, but remembered to turn her face up slightly so he could kiss her with no difficulty. Now, in an instant his lips would be upon hers, the hard insistent lips which she suddenly remembered with a vividness that left her weak.But he did not kiss her.Disappointment queerly stirring her, she opened her eyes a trifle and ventured a peep at him.His black head was bent over her hands and, as she watched, he lifted one and kissed it and, taking the other, laid it against his cheek for a moment.Expecting violence, this gentle and lover-like gesture startled her.She wondered what expression was on his face but could not tell for his head was bowed.
She quickly lowered her gaze lest he should look up suddenly and see the expression on her face. She knew that the feeling of triumph going through herwas certain to be plain in her eyes.In a moment he would ask her to marry him—or at least say that he loved her and then……As she watched him through the veil of her lashes he turned her hand over, palm up, to kiss it too, and suddenly he drew a quick breath.Looking down she saw her own palm, saw it as it really was for the first time in a year, and a cold sinking fear gripped her.This was a stranger"s palm, not Scarlett O"Hara"s soft, white, dimpled, helpless one.This hand was rough from work, brown with sunburn, splotched with freckles.The nails were broken and irregular, there were heavy calluses on the cushions of the palm, a half-healed blister on the thumb.The red scar which boiling fat had left last month was ugly and glaring.She looked at it in horror and, before she thought, she swiftly clenched her fist.
Still he did not raise his head. Still she could not see his face.He pried her fist open inexorably and stared at it, picked up her other hand and held them both together silently, looking down at them.
“Look at me，”he said finally raising his head, and his voice was very quiet.“And drop that demure expression.”
Unwillingly she met his eyes, defiance and perturbation on her face. His black brows were up and his eyes gleamed.
“So you have been doing very nicely at Tara, have you？Cleared so much money on the cotton you can go visiting. What have you been doing with your hands-plowing？”
She tried to wrench them away but he held them hard, running his thumbs over the calluses.
“These are not the hands of a lady，”he said and tossed them into her lap.
“Oh, shut up！”she cried, feeling a momentary intense relief at being able to speak her feelings.“Whose business is it what I do with my hands？”
“What a fool I am，”she thought vehemently.“I should have borrowed or stolen Aunt Pitty"s gloves. But I didn"t realize my hands looked so bad.Of course, he would notice them.And now I"ve lost my temper and probably ruined everything.Oh, to have this happen when he was right at the point of a declaration！”
“Your hands are certainly no business of mine，”said Rhett coolly and lounged back in his chair indolently, his face a smooth blank.
So he was going to be difficult. Well, she"d have to bear it meekly, much as she disliked it, if she expected to snatch victory from this debacle.Perhaps if she sweet-talked him—
“I think you"re real rude to throw off on my poor hands. Just because I went riding last week without my gloves and ruined them—”
“Riding, hell！”he said in the same level voice.“You"ve been working with those hands, working like a nigger. What"s the answer？Why did you lie to me about everything being nice at Tara？”
“Now, Rhett—”
“Suppose we get down to the truth. What is the real purpose of your visit？Almost, I was persuaded by your coquettish airs that you cared something about me and were sorry for me.”
“Oh, I am sorry！Indeed—”
“No, you aren"t. They can hang me higher than Haman for all you care.It"s written as plainly on your face as hard work is written on your hands.You wanted something from me and you wanted it badly enough to put on quite a show.Why didn"t you come out in the open and tell me what it was？You"d have stood a much better chance of getting it, for if there"s one virtue I value in women it’s frankness.But no, you had to come jingling your earbobs and pouting and frisking like a prostitute with a prospective client.”
He did not raise his voice at the last words or emphasize them in any way but to Scarlett they cracked like a whiplash, and with despair she saw the end of her hopes of getting him to propose marriage. Had he exploded with rage and injured vanity or upbraided her, as other men would have done, she could have handled him.But the deadly quietness of his voice frightened her, left her utterly at a loss as to her next move.Although he was a prisoner and the Yankees were in the next room, it came to her suddenly that Rhett Butler was a dangerous man to run afoul of.
“I suppose my memory is getting faulty. I should have recalled that you are just like me and that you never do anything without an ulterior motive.Now, let me see.What could you have had up your sleeve, Mrs.Hamilton？It isn"t possible that you were so misguided as to think I would propose matrimony？”
Her face went crimson and she did not answer.
“But you can"t have forgotten my oft-repeated remark that I am not a marrying man？”
When she did not speak, he said with sudden violence，“You hadn"t forgotten？Answer me.”
“I hadn"t forgotten，”she said wretchedly.
“What a gambler you are, Scarlett，”he jeered.“You took a chance that my incarceration away from female companionship would put me in such a state that I"d snap at you like a trout at a worm.”
“And that"s what you did，”thought Scarlett with inward rage，“and if it hadn"t been for my hands—”
“Now, we have most of the truth, everything except your reason. See if you can tell me the truth about why you wanted to lead me into wedlock.”
There was a suave, almost teasing note in his voice and she took heart. Perhaps everything wasn"t lost, after all.Of course, she had ruined any hope of marriage but, even in her despair, she was glad.There was something about this immobile man which frightened her, so that now the thought of marrying him was fearful.But perhaps if she was clever and played on his sympathies and his memories, she could secure a loan.She pulled her face into a placating and childlike expression.
“Oh, Rhett, you can help me so much—if you"ll just be sweet.”
“There"s nothing I like better than being—sweet.”
“Rhett, for old friendship"s sake, I want you to do me a favor.”
“So, at last the horny-handed lady comes to her real mission. I feared that‘visiting the sick and imprisoned"was not your proper r1e.What do you want？Money？”
The bluntness of his question mined all hopes of leading up to the matter in any circuitous and sentimental way.
“Don"t be mean, Rhett，”she coaxed.“I do want some money. I want you to lend me three hundred dollars.”
“The truth at last. Talking love and thinking money.How truly feminine！Do you need the money badly？”
“Oh, ye—Well, not so terribly but I could use it.”
“Three hundred dollars. That"s a vast amount of money.What do you wantit for？”
“To pay taxes on Tara.”
“So you want to borrow some money. Well, since you"re so businesslike, I"ll be businesslike too.What collateral will you give me？”
“What what？”
“Collateral. Security on my investment.Of course, I don"t want to lose all that money.”His voice was deceptively smooth, almost silky, but she did not notice.Maybe everything would turn out nicely after all.
“My earrings.”
“I"m not interested in earrings.”
“I"ll give you a mortgage on Tara.”
“Now just what would I do with a farm？”
“Well, you could—you could—it"s a good plantation. And you wouldn"t lose.I"d pay you back out of next year"s cotton.”
“I"m not so sure.”He tilted back in his chair and stuck his hands in his pockets.“Cotton prices are dropping. Times are so hard and money"s so tight.”
“Oh, Rhett, you are teasing me！You know you have millions！”
There was a warm dancing malice in his eyes as he surveyed her.
“So everything is going nicely and you don"t need the money very badly. Well, I"m glad to hear that.I like to know that all is well with old friends.”
“Oh, Rhett, for God"s sake……”she began desperately, her courage and control breaking.
“Do lower your voice. You don"t want the Yankees to hear you, I hope.Did anyone ever tell you you had eyes like a cat—a cat in the dark？”
“Rhett, don"t！I"ll tell you everything. I do need the money so badly.I—I lied about everything being all right.Everything"s as wrong as it could be.Father is—is—he"s not himself.He"s been queer ever since Mother died and he can’t help me any.He’s just like a child.And we haven’t a single field hand to work the cotton and there’s so many to feed, thirteen of us.And the taxes—they are so high.Rhett, I’ll tell you everything.For over a year we’ve been just this side of starvation.Oh, you don’t know！
You can’t know！We’ve never had enough to eat and it’s terrible to wake up hungry and go to sleep hungry.And we haven’t any warm clothes and the children are always cold and sick and—”“Where did you get the pretty dress？”
“It"s made out of Mother"s curtains，”she answered, too desperate to lie about this shame.“I could stand being hungry and cold but now—now the Carpetbaggers have raised our taxes. And the money"s got to be paid right away.And I haven"t any money except one five-dollar gold piece.I"ve got to have money for the taxes！Don’t you see？If I don’t pay them, I’ll—we’ll lose Tara and we just can’t lose it！
I can’t let it go！”
“Why didn"t you tell me all this at first instead of preying on my susceptible heart—always weak where pretty ladies are concerned？No, Scarlett, don"t cry. You"ve tried every trick except that one and I don"t think I could stand it.My feelings are already lacerated with disappointment at discovering it was my money and not my charming self you wanted.”
She remembered that he frequently told bald truths about himself when he spoke mockingly—mocking himself as well as others, and she hastily looked up at him. Were his feelings really hurt？Did he really care about her？Had he been on the verge of a proposal when he saw her palms？Or had he only been leading up to another odious proposal as he had made twice before？
If he really cared about her, perhaps she could smooth him down.But his black eyes raked her in no lover-like way and he was laughing softly.
“I don"t like your collateral. I"m no planter.What else have you to offer？”
Well, she had come to it at last. Now for it！She drew a deep breath andmet his eyes squarely, all coquetry and airs gone as her spirit rushed out to grapple that which she feared most.
“I—I have myself.”
“Yes？”
Her jaw line tightened to squareness and her eyes went emerald.
“You remember that night on Aunt Pitty"s porch, during the siege？You said—you said then that you wanted me.”
He leaned back carelessly in his chair and looked into her tense face and his own dark face was inscrutable. Something flickered behind his eyes but he said nothing.
“You said—you said you"d never wanted a woman as much as you wanted me. If you still want me, you can have me.Rhett, I"ll do anything you say but, for God"s sake, write me a draft for the money！My word"s good.I swear it.I won"t go back on it.I’ll put it in writing if you like.”
He looked at her oddly, still inscrutable and as she hurried on she could not tell if he were amused or repelled. If he would only say something, anything！She felt her cheeks getting hot.
“I have got to have the money soon, Rhett. They"ll turn us out in the road and that damned overseer of Father"s will own the place and—”
“Just a minute. What makes you think I still want you？What makes you think you are worth three hundred dollars？Most women don"t come that high.”
She blushed to her hair line and her humiliation was complete.
“Why are you doing this？Why not let the farm go and live at Miss Pittypat"s. You own half that house.”
“Name of God！”she cried.“Are you a fool？I can"t let Tara go. It"s home.I won"t let it go.Not while I"ve got a breath left in me！”
“The Irish，”said he, lowering his chair back to level and removing his hands from his pockets，“are the damnedest race. They put so much emphasis on so many wrong things.Land, for instance.And every bit of earth is just like every other bit.Now, let me get this straight, Scarlett.You are coming to me with a business proposition.I"ll give you three hundred dollars and you"ll become my mistress.”
“Yes.”
Now that the repulsive word had been said, she felt somehow easier and hope awoke in her again. He had said“I"11 give you.”There was a diabolic gleam in his eyes as if something amused him greatly.
“And yet, when I had the effrontery to make you this same proposition, you turned me out of the house. And also you called me a number of very hard names and mentioned in passing that you didn"t want a‘passel of brats."No, my dear, I"m not rubbing it in.I"m only wondering at the peculiarities of your mind.You wouldn"t do it for your own pleasure but you will to keep the wolf away from the door.It proves my point that all virtue is merely a matter of prices.”
“Oh, Rhett, how you run on！If you want to insult me, go on and do it but give me the money.”
She was breathing easier now. Being what he was, Rhett would naturally want to torment and insult her as much as possible to pay her back for past slights and for her recent attempted trickery.Well, she could stand it.She could stand anything Tara was worth it all.For a brief moment it was midsummer and the afternoon skies were blue and she lay drowsily in the thick clover of Tara"s lawn, looking up at the billowing cloud castles, the fragrance of white blossoms in her nose and the pleasant busy humming of bees in her ears.Afternoon and hush and the far-off sound of the wagons coming in from the spiraling red fields.Worth it all, worth more.
Her head went up.
“Are you going to give me the money？”
He looked as if he were enjoying himself and when he spoke there was suave brutality in his voice.
“No, I"m not，”he said.
For a moment her mind could not adjust itself to his words.
“I couldn"t give it to you, even if I wanted to. I haven"t a cent on me.Not a dollar in Atlanta.I have some money, yes, but not here.And I"m not saying where it is or how much.But if I tried to draw a draft on it, the Yankees would be on me like a duck on a June bug and then neither of us would get it.What do you think of that？”
Her face went an ugly green, freckles suddenly standing out across her nose and her contorted mouth was like Gerald"s in a killing rage. She sprang to her feet with an incoherent cry which made the hum of voices in the next room cease suddenly.Swift as a panther, Rhett was beside her, his heavy hand across her mouth, his arm tight about her waist.She struggled against him madly, trying to bite his hand, to kick his legs, to scream her rage, despair, hate, her agony of broken pride.She bent and twisted every way against the iron of his arm, her heart near bursting, her tight stays cutting off her breath.He held her so tightly, so roughly that it hurt and the hand over her mouth pinched into her jaws cruelly.His face was white under its tan, his eyes hard and anxious as he lifted her completely off her feet, swung her up against his chest and sat down in the chair, holding her writhing in his lap.
“Darling, for God"s sake！Stop！Hush！Don"t yell. They"ll be in here in aminute if you do.Do calm yourself.Do you want the Yankees to see you like this？”
She was beyond caring who saw her, beyond anything except a fiery desire to kill him, but dizziness was sweeping her. She could not breathe；he was choking her；her stays were like a swiftly compressing band of iron；his arms about her made her shake with helpless hate and fury.Then his voice became thin and dim and his face above her swirled in a sickening mist which became heavier and heavier until she no longer saw him—or anything else.
When she made feeble swimming motions to come back to consciousness, she was tired to her bones, weak, bewildered. She was lying back in the chair, her bonnet off, Rhett was slapping her wrist, his black eyes searching her face anxiously.The nice young captain was trying to pour a glass of brandy into her mouth and had spilled it down her neck.The other officers hovered helplessly about, whispering and waving their hands.
“I—guess I must have fainted，”she said, and her voice sounded so far away it frightened her.
“Drink this，”said Rhett, taking the glass and pushing it against her lips. Now she remembered and glared feebly at him but she was too tired for anger.
“Please, for my sake.”
She gulped and choked and began coughing but he pushed it to her mouth again. She swallowed deeply and the hot liquid burned suddenly in her throat.
“I think she"s better now, gentlemen，”said Rbett，“and I thank you very much. The realization that I"m to be executed was too much for her.”
The group in blue shuffled their feet and looked embarrassed and after several clearings of throats, they tramped out. The young captain paused in the doorway.
“If there"s anything more I can do—”
“No, thank you.”
He went out, closing the door behind him.
“Drink some more，”said Rhett.
“No.”
“Drink it.”
She swallowed another mouthful and the warmth began spreading throughher body and strength flowed slowly back into her shaking legs. She pushed away the glass and tried to rise but he pressed her back.
“Take your hands off me. I"m going.”
“Not yet. Wait a minute.You might faint again.”
“I"d rather faint in the road than be here with you.”
“Just the same, I won"t have you fainting in the road.”
“Let me go. I hate you.”
A faint smile came back to his face at her words.
“That sounds more like you. You must be feeling better.”
She lay relaxed for a moment, trying to summon anger to her aid, trying to draw on her strength. But she was too tired.She was too tired to hate or to care very much about anything.Defeat lay on her spirit like lead.She had gambled everything and lost everything.Not even pride was left.This was the dead end of her last hope.This was the end of Tara, the end of them all.For a long time she lay back with her eyes closed, hearing his heavy breathing near her, and the glow of the brandy crept gradually over her, giving a false strength and warmth.When finally she opened her eyes and looked him in the face, anger had roused again.As her slanting eyebrows rushed down together in a frown Rhett"s old smile came back.
“Now you are better. I can tell it by your scowl.”
“Of course, I"m all right. Rhett Butler, you are hateful, a skunk, if ever I saw one！You knew very well what I was going to say as soon as I started talking and you knew ybu weren"t going to give me the money.And yet you let me go right on.You could have spared me—”
“Spared you and missed hearing all that？Not much. I have so few diversions here.I don"t know when I"ve heard anything so gratifying.”He laughed his sudden mocking laugh.At the sound she leaped to her feet, snatching up her bonnet.
He suddenly had her by the shoulders.
“Not quite yet. Do you feel well enough to talk sense？”
“Let me go！”
“You are well enough, I see. Then, tell me this.Was I the only iron you had in the fire？”His eyes were keen and alert, watching every change in herface.
“What do you mean？”
“Was I the only man you were going to try this on？”
“Is that any of your business？”
“More than you realize. Are there any other men on your string？Tell me！”
“No.”
“Incredible. I can"t imagine you without five or six in reserve.Surely someone will turn up to accept your interesting proposition.I feel so sure of it that I want to give you a little advice.”
“I don"t want your advice.”
“Nevertheless I will give it. Advice seems to be the only thing I can give you at present.Listen to it, for it"s good advice.When you are trying to get something out of a man, don"t blurt it out as you did to me.Do try to be more subtle, more seductive.It gets better results.You used to know how, to perfection.But just now when you offered me your—er—collateral for my money you looked as hard as nails.I"ve seen eyes like yours above a dueling pistol twenty paces from me and they aren"t a pleasant sight.They evoke no ardor in the male breast.That"s no way to handle men, my dear.You are forgetting your early training.”
“I don"t need you to tell me how to behave，”she said and wearily put on her bonnet. She wondered how he could jest so blithely with a rope about his neck and her pitiful circumstances before him.She did not even notice that his hands were jammed in his pockets in hard fists as if he were straining at his own impotence.
“Cheer up，”he said, as she tied the bonnet strings.“You can come to my hanging and it will make you feel lots better. It"ll even up all your old scores with me—even this one.And I"ll mention you in my will.”
“Thank you, but they may not hang you till it"s too late to pay the taxes，”she said with a sudden malice that matched his own, and she meant it.
第三十五章
导读
思嘉走出消防站后，外面正下着小雨，街上连个人影也没有，她只好自己走回家去。一路上，雨水浸湿了衣服，思嘉知道自己的衣服和鞋已经完蛋了，可现在已经没有心思去管这些。之前心里唯一的希望彻底落空了，这样的结果怎么跟在塔拉等待自己的人们交代呢？思嘉满脑子都是对白瑞德的憎恨，很希望北方佬政府处死他。她踉跄地在泥水里走着，周围不停地传来黑人的嘲笑声，抬头看到周围黑糊糊的一片，一切都令人悲哀！听到后面传来的马蹄声，思嘉往路边让了让，以免衣服被溅上更多的泥浆。她看到从马车里探出头的弗兰克·肯尼迪，明显弗兰克也认出了思嘉，这让思嘉很高兴。坐上马车之后，弗兰克手忙脚乱地帮思嘉擦干雨水，思嘉突然觉得即使身边有个像弗兰克这样的老男人照顾也很好。她注意到弗兰克的穿着和马车，这一切似乎都显示了弗兰克目前生活应该很好，但弗兰克与思嘉的谈话表示他还在想着苏埃伦。
思嘉很想找些话题继续和弗兰克聊，但刚才那毁灭性的失败让她心情十分沉重。弗兰克告诉思嘉战争中遭遇的一些事情，并提到自己现在正在做生意，已经赚了不少钱。思嘉一听到钱的话题，顿时感了兴趣。她把身子往弗兰克靠近，弗兰克急于赚钱的目的就是想娶苏埃伦，思嘉一想到苏埃伦如果与弗兰克结婚的话，肯定又会不停炫耀自己的身份，她也绝对不会帮助塔拉走出困境。想到这儿，思嘉做出决定：苏埃伦绝对不能成为弗兰克的太太，同时开始计划如何俘虏弗兰克的心，至少自己可以控制住弗兰克。思嘉并没有因为弗兰克是自己妹妹的未婚夫而停止计划，她又开始装出让人怜悯的样子，用尽各种手段诱惑弗兰克；并且撒谎告诉弗兰克说苏埃伦下个月会和托尼·方丹结婚。这个消息让弗兰克很痛苦。
到达白蝶姑妈家后，他依然保持着绅士风度，面带微笑。嬷嬷见到弗兰克很开心，以为思嘉一直和弗兰克在一起也就放心了。思嘉悄悄暗示弗兰克不可以向嬷嬷提起苏埃伦的事情，否则会惹得大家伤心。当嬷嬷与思嘉一同回房换下湿透的衣裳时，嬷嬷开始埋怨思嘉没有告诉她来亚特兰大的计划；如果她知道是来找弗兰克先生的话，就不会要求跟着来亚特兰大折腾一番了。原本嬷嬷担心思嘉会找白瑞德，现在看来弗兰克虽然不怎么样，但至少是个绅士。在得到嬷嬷的支持后，思嘉吩咐嬷嬷去买古龙香水和胭脂，这让嬷嬷很不高兴。在她眼里，这些都是坏女人才会使用的东西，但在思嘉的一再要求下，还是去买回来了。
在第二天范尼的婚礼上，思嘉参加了很久以来的第一次舞会。人们都对她表示了热情的欢迎，但思嘉还是为自己穿的衣服感到不安。虽然在场的人除了新娘，就属思嘉的衣服最新、最漂亮，但她还是因为想到以前的日子而感到烦恼。在舞会上，思嘉见到了很多熟悉的面孔，交谈之后知道梅里韦瑟太太的女婿勒内现在正在卖馅饼；新郎汤米成了包工头；埃辛尔家的儿子休和以前差不多，还是个瘦小的男孩。男孩们邀请思嘉跳舞，但思嘉以正在为妈妈服丧为由拒绝了，并打手势让弗兰克坐到自己身边。弗兰克听从思嘉的话，去拿了一些点心和酒，而思嘉自己先走到了隔壁的房间。原本很豪华舒适的房间已经被毁坏了，现在到处都是战争留下的伤痕，舒服的沙发也被硬板凳取代。从这儿往舞会望去，思嘉觉得那些熟悉的人们似乎都没怎么变，但是明显少了五年前的那种安全感。她很清楚自己变了，与周围人交谈好像都很困难，在那些熟悉的人身上还带着那不可改变的尊严和豪放。
思嘉知道自己现在什么事情都敢做，为了生活她可以不择手段；但这里的人们有些事情不愿做，他们一直在逃避着现实不敢面对。如果他们也遭遇过像塔拉那样的苦楚，现在就不会营造出这么欢快轻松的气氛。思嘉突然恨起这些人来，他们用一种自己没有的态度去承受着这一切，那些妇女们依然表现得像上流社会的贵妇，而自己虽然穿得比她们漂亮，但是身上已经没有那样气质的举动和彬彬有礼的教养。思嘉鄙视这些人的安于现状，自己不会这样一辈子受穷；她一定要像父亲那样赚取财富，得到自己想要的。现在弗兰克就是自己的一个机会，她不可以放弃。
思嘉看到弗兰克端着酒杯，拿着点心走过来，她抬头向他露出迷人的微笑。她让弗兰克坐到自己身边，这样他就可以闻到自己身上的那股古龙香水的味道了。思嘉心想：如果弗兰克有塔尔顿家男孩的热情或者白瑞德的冒失无礼就更好了。但如果那样，说不定他就会发觉思嘉的目的了。思嘉把所有的希望从白瑞德身上转移到弗兰克身上，她开始进行最后的争取。
It was raining when she came out of the building and the sky was adull putty color. The soldiers on the square had taken shelter in their huts and the streets were deserted.There was no vehicle in sight and she knew she would have to walk the long way home.
The brandy glow faded as she trudged along. The cold wind made her shiver and the chilly needle-like drops drove hard into her face.The rain quickly penetrated Aunt Pitty"s thin cloak until it hung in clammy folds about her.She knew the velvet dress was being ruined and as for the tail feathers on the bonnet, they were as drooping and draggled as when their former owner had worn them about the wet barn yard of Tara.The bricks of the sidewalk were broken and, for long stretches, completely gone.In these spots the mud was ankle deep and her slippers stuck in it as if it were glue, even coming completely off her feet.Every time she bent over to retrieve them, the hem of the dress fell in the mud.She did not even try to avoid puddles but stepped dully into them, dragging her heavy skirts after her.She could feel her wet petticoat and pantalets cold about her ankles, but she was beyond caring about the wreck of the costume on which she had gambled so much.She was chilled and disheartened and desiderate.
How could she ever go back to Tara and face them after her brave words？How could she tell them they must all go—somewhere？How could she leave it all, the red fields, the tall pines, the dark swampy bottom lands, the quiet burying ground where Ellen lay in the cedars"deep shade？
Hatred of Rhett burned in her heart as she plodded along the slippery way. What a blackguard he was！She hoped they did hang him, so she would never have to face him again, with his knowledge of her disgrace and her humiliation.Of course, he could have gotten the money for her if he"d wanted to get it.Oh, hanging was too good for him！Thank God, he couldn"t see her now, with herclothes soaking wet and her hair straggling and her teeth chattering.How hideous she must look and how he would laugh！
The negroes she passed turned insolent grins at her and laughed among themselves as she hurried by, slipping and sliding in the mud, stopping, panting to replace her slippers. How dared they laugh, the black apes！How dared they grin at her, Scarlett O"Hara of Tara！She"d like to have them all whipped until the blood ran down their backs.What devils the Yankees were to set them free, free to jeer at white people！
As she walked down Washington Street, the landscape was as dreary as her own heart. Here was none of the bustle and cheerfulness which she had noted on Peachtree Street.Here many handsome homes had once stood, but few of them had been rebuilt.Smoked foundations and the lonesome blackened chimneys, now known as“Sherman"s Sentinels”，appeared with disheartening frequency.Overgrown paths led to what had been houses—old lawns thick with dead weeds, carriage blocks bearing names she knew so well, hitching posts which would never again know the knot of reins.Cold wind and rain, mud and bare trees, silence and desolation.How wet her feet were and how long the journey home！
She heard the splash of hooves behind her and moved farther over on the narrow sidewalk to avoid more mud splotches on Aunt Pittypat"s cloak. A horse and buggy came slowly up the road and she turned to watch it, determined to beg a ride if the driver was a white person.The rain obscured her vision as the buggy came abreast, but she saw the driver peer over the tarpaulin that stretched from the dashboard to his chin.There was something familiar about his face and as she stepped out into the road to get a closer view, there was an embarrassed little cough from the man and a well-known voice cried in accents of pleasure and astonishment：
“Surely, it can"t be Miss Scarlett！”
“Oh, Mr. Kennedy！”she cried, splashing across the road, and leaning on the muddy wheel, heedless of further damage to the cloak.“I was never so glad to see anybody in my life！”
He colored with pleasure at the obvious sincerity of her words, hastily squirted a stream of tobacco juice from the opposite side of the buggy and leaped spryly to the ground. He shook her hand enthusiastically and holding upthe tarpaulin, assisted her into the buggy.
“Miss Scarlett, what are you doing over in this section by yourself？Don"t you know it"s dangerous these days？And you are soaking wet. Here, wrap the robe around your feet.”
As he fussed over her, clucking like a hen, she gave herself up to the luxury of being taken care of. It was nice to have a man fussing and clucking and scolding, even if it was only that old maid in pants, Frank Kennedy.It was especially soothing after Rhett"s brutal treatment.And oh, how good to see a County face when she was so far from home！He was well dressed, she noticed, and the buggy was new too.The horse looked young and well fed, but Frank looked far older than his years, older than on that Christmas eve when he had been at Tara with his men.He was thin and sallow faced and his yellow eyes were watery and sunken in creases of loose flesh.His ginger-colored beard was scantier than ever, streaked with tobacco juice and as ragged as if he clawed at it incessantly.But he looked bright and cheerful, in contrast with the lines of sorrow and worry and weariness which Scarlett saw in faces everywhere.
“It"s a pleasure to see you，”said Frank warmly.“I didn"t know you were in town. I saw Miss Pittypat only last week and she didn"t tell me you were coming.Did—er—ahem—did anyone else come up from Tara with you？”
He was thinking of Suellen, the silly old fool.
“No，”she said, wrapping the warm lap robe about her and trying to pull it up around her neck.“I came alone. I didn"t give Aunt Pitty any warning.”
He chirruped to the horse and it plodded off, picking its way carefully down the slick road.
“All the folks at Tara well？”
“Oh, yes, so-so.”
She must think of something to talk about, yet it was so hard to talk. Her mind was leaden with defeat and all she wanted was to lie back in this warm blanket and say to herself：“I won"t think of Tara now.I"ll think of it later, when it won"t hurt so much.”If she could just get him started talking on some subject which would hold him all the way home, so she would have nothing to do but murmur“How nice”and“You certainly are smart”at intervals.
“Mr. Kennedy, I"m so surprised to see you.I know I"ve been a bad girl, not keeping up with old friends, but I didn"t know you were here in Atlanta.I thought somebody told me you were in Marietta.”
“I do business in Marietta, a lot of business，”he said.“Didn"t Miss Suellen tell you I had settled in Atlanta？Didn"t she tell you about my store？”
Vaguely she had a memory of Suellen chattering about Frank and a store but she never paid much heed to anything Suellen said. It had been sufficient to know that Frank was alive and would some day take Suellen off her hands.
“No, not a word，”she lied.“Have you a store？How smart you must be！”
He looked a little hurt at hearing that Suellen had not published the news but brightened at the flattery.
“Yes, I"ve got a store, and a pretty good one I think. Folks tell me I"m a born merchant.”He laughed pleasedly, the tittery cackling laugh which she always found so annoying.
“Conceited old fool，”she thought.
“Oh, you could be a success at anything you turned your hand to, Mr. Kennedy.But how on earth did you ever get started with the store？When I saw you Christmas before last you said you didn"t have a cent in the world.”
He cleared his throat raspingly, clawed at his whiskers and smiled his nervous timid smile.
“Well, it"s a long story, Miss Scarlett.”
“Thank the Lord！”she thought.“Perhaps it will hold him till we get home.”And aloud：“Do tell！”
“You recall when we came to Tara last, hunting for supplies？Well, not long after that I went into active service. I mean real fighting.No more commissary for me.There wasn"t much need for a commissary, Miss Scarlett, because we couldn"t hardly pick up a thing for the army, and I thought the place for an able-bodied man was in the fighting line.Well, I fought along with the cavalry for a spell till I got a minie ball through the shoulder.”
He looked very proud and Scarlett said：“How dreadful！”
“Oh, it wasn"t so bad, just a flesh wound，”he said deprecatingly.“I was sent down south to a hospital and when I was just about well, the Yankee raiders came through. My, my, but that was a hot time！We didn"t have much warning and all of us who could walk helped haul out the army stores and thehospital equipment to the train tracks to move it.We"d gotten one train about loaded when the Yankees rode in one end of town and out we went the other end as fast as we could go.My, my, that was a mighty sad sight, sitting on top of that train and seeing the Yankees burn those supplies we had to leave at the depot.Miss Scarlett, they burned about a half-mile of stuff we had piled up there along the tracks.We just did get away ourselves.”
“How dreadful！”
“Yes, that"s the word. Dreadful.Our men had come back into Atlanta then and so our train was sent here.Well, Miss Scarlett, it wasn"t long before the war was over and—well, there was a lot of china and cots and mattresses and blankets and nobody claiming them.I suppose rightfully they belonged to the Yankees.I think those were the terms of the surrender, weren"t they？
”
“Um，”said Scarlett absently. She was getting warmer now and a little drowsy.
“I don"t know till now if I did right，”he said, a little querulously.“But the way I figured it, all that stuff wouldn"t do the Yankees a bit of good. They"d probably burn it.And our folks had paid good solid money for it, and I thought it still ought to belong to the Confederacy or to the Confederates.Do you see what I mean？”
“Um.”
“I"m glad you agree with me, Miss Scarlett. In a way, it"s been on my conscience.Lots of folks have told me：‘Oh, forget about it, Frank，"but I can"t.I couldn"t hold up my head if I thought I’d done what wasn’t right.Do you think I did right？”
“Of course，”she said, wondering what the old fool had been talking about. Some struggle with his conscience.When a man got as old as Frank Kennedy he ought to have learned not to bother about things that didn"t matter.But he always was so nervous and fussy and old maidish.
“I"m glad to hear you say it. After the surrender I had about ten dollars in silver and nothing else in the world.You know what they did to Jonesboro and my house and store there.I just didn"t know what to do.But I used the ten dollars to put a roof on an old store down by Five Points and I moved the hospital equipment in and started selling it.Everybody needed beds and chinaand mattresses and I sold them cheap, because I figured it was about as much other folks"stuff as it was mine.But I cleared money on it and bought some more stuff and the store just went along fine.I think I"ll make a lot of money on it if things pick up.”
At the word“money，”her mind came back to him, crystal clear.
“You say you"ve made money？”
He visibly expanded under her interest. Few women except Scarlett had ever given him more than perfunctory courtesy and it was very flattering to have a former belle like Scarlett hanging on his words.He slowed the horse so they would not reach home before he had finished his story.
“I"m not a millionaire, Miss Scarlett, and considering the money I used to have, what I"ve got now sounds small. But I made a thousand dollars this year.Of course, five hundred of it went to paying for new stock and repairing the store and paying the rent.But I"ve made five hundred clear and as things are certainly picking up, I ought to clear two thousand next year.I can sure use it, too, for you see, I"ve got another iron in the fire.”
Interest had sprung up sharply in her at the talk of money. She veiled her eyes with thick bristly lashes and moved a little closer to him.
“What does that mean, Mr. Kennedy？”
He laughed and slapped the reins against the horse"s back.
“I guess l"m boring you, talking about business, Miss Scarlett. A pretty little woman like you doesn"t need to know anything about business.”
The old fool.
“Oh, I know I"m a goose about business but I"m so interested！Please tell me all about it and you can explain what I don"t understand.”
“Well, my other iron is a sawmill.”
“A what？”
“A mill to cut up lumber and plane it. I haven"t bought it yet but I"m going to.There"s a man named Johnson who has one, way out Peachtree road, and he"s anxious to sell it.He needs some cash right away, so he wants to sell and stay and run it for me at a weekly wage.It"s one of the few mills in this section, Miss Scarlett.The Yankees destroyed most of them.And anyone who owns a sawmill owns a gold mine, for nowadays you can ask your own price forlumber.The Yankees burned so many houses here and there aren’t enough for people to live in and it looks like folks have gone crazy about rebuilding.They can’t get enough lumber and they can’t get it fast enough.People are just pouring into Atlanta now, all the folks from the country districts who can’t make a go of farming without darkies and the Yankees and Carpetbaggers who are swarming in trying to pick our bones a little barer than they already are.I tell you Atlanta’s going to be a big town soon.They’ve got to have lumber for their houses, so I’m going to buy this mill just as soon as—well, as soon as some of the bills owing me are paid.By this time next year, I ought to be breathing easier about money.I—I guess you know why I’m so anxious to make money quickly, don’t you？
”
He blushed and cackled again. He"s thinking of Suellen, Scarlett thought in disgust.
For a moment she considered asking him to lend her three hundred dollars, but wearily she rejected the idea. He would be embarrassed；he would stammer；he would offer excuses, but he wouldn"t lend it to her.He had worked hard for it, so he could marry Suellen in the spring and if he parted with it, his wedding would be postponed indefinitely.Even if she worked on his sympathies and his duty toward his future family and gained his promise of a loan, she knew Suellen would never permit it.Suellen was getting more and more worried over the fact that she was practically an old maid and she would move heaven and earth to prevent anything from delaying her marriage.
What was there in that whining complaining girl to make this old fool so anxious to give her a soft nest？Suellen didn"t deserve a loving husband and the profits of a store and a sawmill. The moment Sue got her hands on a little money she"d give herself unendurable airs and never contribute one cent toward the upkeep of Tara.Not Suellen！She"d think herself well out of it and not care if Tara went for taxes or burned to the ground, so long as she had pretty clothes and a“Mrs.”in front of her name.
As Scarlett thought of Suellen"s secure future and the precarious one of herself and Tara, anger flamed in her at the unfairness of life. Hastily she looked out of the buggy into the muddy street, lest Frank should see her expression.She was going to lose everything she had, while Sue—Suddenly adetermination was born in her.
Suellen should not have Frank and his store and his mill！
Suellen didn"t deserve them. She was going to have them herself.She thought of Tara and remembered Jonas Wilkerson, venomous as a rattler, at the foot of the front steps, and she grasped at the last straw floating above the shipwreck of her life.Rhett had failed her but the Lord had provided Frank.
But can I get him？Her fingers clenched as she looked unseeingly into the rain. Can I make him forget Sue and propose to me real quick？If I could make Rhett almost propose, I know I could get Frank！Her eyes went over him, her lids flickering.Certainly, he"s no beauty, she thought coolly, and he"s got very bad teeth and his breath smells bad and he"s old enough to be my father.Moreover, he"s nervous and timid and well meaning, and I don"t know of any more damning qualities a man can have.But at least, he’s a gentleman and I believe I could stand living with him better than with Rhett.Certainly I could manage him easier.At any rate, beggars can’t be choosers.
That he was Suellen"s fiancécaused her no qualm of conscience.After the complete moral collapse which had sent her to Atlanta and to Rhett, the appropriation of her sister’s betrothed seemed a minor affair and one not to be bothered with at this time.
With the rousing of fresh hope, her spine stiffened and she forgot that her feet were wet and cold. She looked at Frank so steadily, her eyes narrowing, that he became somewhat alarmed and she dropped her gaze swiftly, remembering Rhett"s words：“I"ve seen eyes like yours above a dueling pistol……They evoke no ardor in the male breast.”
“What"s the matter, Miss Scarlett？You got a chill？”
“Yes，”she answered helplessly.“Would you mind—”She hesitated timidly.“Would you mind if I put my hand in your coat pocket？It"s so cold and my muff is soaked through.”
“Why—why—of course not！And you haven"t any gloves！My, my, what a brute I"ve been idling along like this, talking my head off when you must be freezing and wanting to get to a fire. Giddap, Sally！By the way, Miss Scarlett, I"ve been so busy talking about myself I haven"t even asked you what you were doing in this section in this weather？”
“I was at the Yankee headquarters，”she answered before she thought. His sandy brows went up in astonishment.
“But Miss Scarlett！The soldiers—Why—”
“Mary, Mother of God, let me think of a real good lie，”she prayed hastily. It would never do for Frank to suspect she had seen Rhett.Frank thought Rhett the blackest of blackguards and unsafe for decent women to speak to.
“I went there—I went there to see if—if any of the officers would buy fancy work from me to send home to their wives. I embroider very nicely.”
He sank back against the seat aghast, indignation struggling with bewilderment.
“You went to the Yankees—But Miss Scarlett！You shouldn"t. Why—why……Surely your father doesn"t know！Surely, Miss Pittypat—”
“Oh, I shall die if you tell Aunt Pittypat！”she cried in real anxiety and burst into tears. It was easy to cry, because she was so cold and miserable, but the effect was startling.Frank could not have been more embarrassed or helpless if she had suddenly begun disrobing.He clicked his tongue against his teeth several times, muttering“My！My！”and made futile gestures at her.A daring thought went through his mind that he should draw her head onto his shoulder and pat her but he had never done this to any woman and hardly knew how to go about it.Scarlett O"Hara, so high spirited and pretty, crying here in his buggy.Scarlett O"Hara, the proudest of the proud, trying to sell needlework to the Yankees.His heart burned.
She sobbed on, saying a few words now and then, and he gathered that all was not well at Tara. Mr.O"Hara was still“not himself at all，”and there wasn"t enough food to go around for so many.So she had to come to Atlanta to try to make a little money for herself and her boy.Frank clicked his tongue again and suddenly found that her head was on his shoulder.He did not quite know how it got there.Surely he had not placed it there, but there her head was and there was Scarlett helplessly sobbing against his thin chest, an exciting and novel sensation for him.He patted her shoulder timidly, gingerly at first, and when she did not rebuff him he became bolder and patted her firmly.What a helpless, sweet, womanly thing she was.And how brave and silly to try her hand at making money by her needle.But dealing with the Yankees—that was toomuch.
“I won"t tell Miss Pittypat, but you must promise me, Miss Scarlett, that you won"t do anything like this again. The idea of your father"s daughter—”
Her wet green eyes sought his helplessly.
“But, Mr. Kennedy, I must do something.I must take care of my poor little boy and there is no one to look after us now.”
“You are a brave little woman，”he pronounced，“but I won"t have you do this sort of thing. Your family would die of shame.”
“Then what will I do？”The swimming eyes looked up to him as if she knew he knew everything and was hanging on his words.
“Well, I don"t know right now. But I"ll think of something.”
“Oh, I know you will！You are so smart—Frank.”
She had never called him by his first name before and the sound came to him as a pleasant shock and surprise. The poor girl was probably so upset she didn"t even notice her slip.He felt very kindly toward her and very protecting.If there was anything he could do for Suellen O"Hara"s sister, he would certainly do it.He pulled out a red bandana handkerchief and handed it to her and she wiped her eyes and began to smile tremulously.
“I"m such a silly little goose，”she said apologetically.“Please forgive me.”
“You aren"t a silly little goose. You"re a brave little woman and you are trying to carry too heavy a load.I"m afraid Miss Pittypat isn"t going to be much help to you.I hear she lost most of her property and Mr.Henry Hamilton"s in bad shape himself.I only wish I had a home to offer you shelter in.But, Miss Scarlett, you just remember this, when Miss Suellen and I are married, there’ll always be a place for you under our roof and for Wade Hampton too.”
Now was the time！Surely the saints and angels watched over her to give her such a Heaven-sent opportunity. She managed to look very startled and embarrassed and opened her mouth as if to speak quickly and then shut it with a pop.
“Don"t tell me you didn"t know I was to be your brother-in-law this spring，”he said with nervous jocularity. And then, seeing her eyes fill up with tears, he questioned in alarm：“What"s the matter？Miss Sue"s not ill, is she？”
“Oh, no！No！”
“There is something wrong. You must tell me.”
“Oh, I can"t！I didn"t know！I thought surely she must have written you—Oh, how mean！”
“Miss Scarlett, what is it？”
“Oh, Frank, I didn"t mean to let it out but I thought, of course, you knew—that she had written you—”
“Written me what？”He was trembling.
“Oh, to do this to a fine man like you！”
“What"s she done？”
“She didn"t write you？Oh, I guess she was too ashamed to write you. She should be ashamed！Oh, to have such a mean sister！”
By this time, Frank could not even get questions to his lips. He sat staring at her, gray faced, the reins slack in his hands.
“She"s going to marry Tony Fontaine next month. Oh, I"m so sorry, Frank.So sorry to be the one to tell you.She just got tired of waiting and she was afraid she"d be an old maid.”
Mammy was standing on the front porch when Frank helped Scarlett out of the buggy. She had evidently been standing there for some time, for her head rag was damp and the old shawl clutched tightly about her showed rain spots.Her wrinkled black face was a study in anger and apprehension and her lip was pushed out farther than Scarlett could ever remember.She peered quickly at Frank and, when she saw who it was, her face changed—pleasure, bewilderment and something akin to guilt spreading over it.She waddled forward to Frank with pleased greetings and grinned and curtsied when he shook her hand.
“It sho is good ter see home folks，”she said.“How is you, Mist"Frank？My, ain"you lookin"fine an"gran"！Effen Ah’d knowed Miss Scarlett wuz out wid you, Ah wouldn’worrit so. Ah’d knowed she wuz tekken keer of.Ah come back hyah an’fine she gone an’Ah been as’stracted as a chicken wid its haid off, thinkin’she runnin’roun’dis town by herself wid all dese trashy free issue niggers on de street.Huccome you din’tell me you gwine out, honey？
An’you wid a cole！”
Scarlett winked slyly at Frank and, for all his distress at the bad news he had just heard, he smiled, knowing she was enjoining silence and making him one in a pleasant conspiracy.
“You run up and fix me some dry clothes, Mammy，”she said.“And some hot tea.”
“Lawd, yo"new dress is plum ruint，”grumbled Mammy.“Ah gwine have a time dryin"it an"brushin"it, so it"ll be fit ter be wo’ter de weddin’temight.”
She went into the house and Scarlett leaned close to Frank and whispered：“Do come to supper tonight. We are so lonesome.And we"re going to the wedding afterward.Do be our escort！And, please don"t say anything to Aunt Pitty about—about Suellen.It would distress her so much and I can"t bear for her to know that my sister—”
“Oh, I won"t！I won"t！”Frank said hastily, wincing from the very thought.
“You"ve been so sweet to me today and done me so much good. I feelright brave again.”She squeezed his hand in parting and turned the full battery of her eyes upon him.
Mammy, who was waiting just inside the door, gave her an inscrutable look and followed her, puffing, up the stairs to the bedroom. She was silent while she striped off the wet clothes and hung them over chairs and tucked Scarlett into bed.When she had brought up a cup of hot tea and a hot brick, rolled in flannel, she looked down at Scarlett and said, with the nearest approach to an apology in her voice Scarlett had ever heard：
“Lamb, huccome you din"tell yo"own Mammy whut you wuz upter？Den Ah wouldn"had ter traipse all dis way up hyah ter"Lanta.Ah is too ole an"too fat fer sech runnin’roun’。”
“What do you mean？”
“Honey, you kain fool me. Ah knows you.An"Ah seed Mist"Frank"s face jes"now an"Ah seed yo’face, an’Ah kin read yo’mine lak a pahson read a Bible.An’Ah heerd dat whisperin’you wuz givin’him’bout Miss Suellen.Effen Ah’d had a notion’twuz‘Mist’Frank you wuz affer, Ah’d stayed home whar Ah b’longs.”
“Well，”said Scarlett shortly, snuggling under the blankets and realizing it was useless to try to throw Mammy off the scent，“who did you think it was？”
“Chile, Ah din"know but Ah din"lak de look on yo"face yestiddy. An"Ah"membered Miss Pittypat writin’Miss Melly dat dat rapscallion Butler man had lots of money an’Ah doan fergit whut Ah hears.But Mist’Frank, he a gempmum even ef he ain’so pretty.”
Scarlett gave her a sharp look and Mammy returned the gaze with calm omniscience.
“Well, what are you going to do about it？Tattle to Suellen？”
“Ah is gwine ter he"p you pleasure Mist"Frank eve"y way Ah knows how，”said Mammy, tucking the covers about Scarlett"s neck.
Scarlett lay quietly for a while, as Mammy fussed about the room, relief flooding her that there was no need for words between them. No explanations were asked, no reproaches made.Mammy understood and was silent.In Mammy, Scarlett had found a realist more uncompromising than herself.The mottled wise old eyes saw deeply, saw clearly, with the directness of the savage and the child, undeterred by conscience when danger threatened her pet.Scarlett was her baby and what her baby wanted, even though it belonged to another, Mammy was willing to help her obtain.The rights of Suellen and Frank Kennedy did not even enter her mind, save to cause a grim inward chuckle.Scarlett was in trouble and doing the best she could, and Scarlett was Miss Ellen"s child.Mammy rallied to her with never a moment"s hesitation.
Scarlett felt the silent reinforcement and, as the hot brick at her feet warmed her, the hope which had flickered faintly on the cold ride home grew into a flame. It swept through her, making her heart pump the blood through her veins in pounding surges.Strength was coming back and a reckless excitement which made her want to laugh aloud.Not beaten yet, she thought exultantly.
“Hand me the mirror, Mammy，”she said.
“Keep yo"shoulders unner dat kivver，”ordered Mammy, passing the hand mirror to her, a smile on her thick lips.
Scarlett looked at herself.
“I look white as a hant，”she said，“and my hair is as wild as a horse"s tail.”
“You doan look peart as you mout.”
“Hum……Is it raining very hard？”
“You know it"s po"in".”
“Well, just the same, you"ve got to go downtown for me.”
“Not in dis rain, Ah ain".”
“Yes, you are or I"ll go myself.”
“Whut you got ter do dat woan wait？Look ter me lak you done nuff fer one day.”
“I want，”said Scarlett, surveying herself carefully in the mirror，“a bottle of cologne water. You can wash my hair and rinse it with cologne.And buy me a jar of quince-seed jelly to make it lie down flat.”
“Ah ain"gwine wash yo"ha"r in dis wedder an"you ain"gwine put no cologne on yo’haid lak a fas’woman needer. Not w’ile Ah got breaf in mah body.”
“Oh, yes, I am. Look in my purse and get that five-dollar gold piece out and go to town.And—er, Mammy, while you are downtown, you might get me a—a pot of rouge.”
“Whut dat？”asked Mammy suspiciously.
Scarlett met her eyes with a coldness she was far from feeling. There was never any way of knowing just how far Mammy could be bullied.
“Never yoti mind. Just ask for it.”
“Ah ain"buyin"nuthin"dat Ah doan know whut"tis.”
“Well, it"s paint, if you"re so curious！Face paint. Don"t stand there and swell UP like a toad.Go on.”
“Paint！”ejaculated Mammy.“Face paint！Well, you ain"so big dat Ah kain whup you！Ah ain"never been so scan"lized！You is los"yo"mine！Miss Ellen be tuhnin’in her grabe dis minute！Paintin’yo’face lak a—”
“You know very well Grandma Robillard painted her face and—”
“Yas"m, an"wo"only one pettiy at an"it wrang out wid water ter mek it stick an"show de shape of her laigs, but dat ain’sayin’you is gwine do sumpin’lak dat！Times wuz scan’lous w’en Ole Miss wuz young but times changes, dey do an’—”
“Name of God！”cried Scarlett, losing her temper and throwing back the covers.“You can go straight back to Tara！”
“You kain sen"me ter Tara ness Ah wants ter go. Ah is free，”said Mammyheatedly.“An"Ah is gwine ter stay right hyah.Git back in dat baid.Does you want ter ketch pneumony jes"now？Put down dem stays！Put dem down, honey.Now, Miss Scarlett, you ain"gwine nowhars in dis wedder.Lawd God！But you sho look lak yo"pa！Git back in baid—Ah kain go buyin’no paint！
Ah die of shame, eve’ybody knowin’it wuz fer mah chile！Miss Scarlett, you is so sweet an’pretty lookin’you doan need no paint.Honey, doan nobody but bad womens use dat stuff.”
“Well, they get results, don"t they？”
“Jesus, hear her！Lamb, doan say bad things lak dat！Put down dem wet stockin"s, honey. Ah kain have you buy dat stuff yo"seff.Miss Ellen would hant me.Git back in baid.Ah"ll go.Maybe Ah fine me a sto"whar dey doan know us.”
That night at Mrs. Elsing"s, when Fanny had been duly married and old Levi and the other musicians were tuning up for the dance, Scarlett looked about her with gladness.It was so exciting to be actually at a party again.She was pleased also with the warm reception she had received.When she entered the house on Frank"s arm, everyone had rushed to her with cries of pleasure and welcome, kissed her, shaken her hand, told her they had missed her dreadfully and that she must never go back to Tara.The men seemed gallantly to have forgotten she had tried her best to break their hearts in other days and the girls that she had done everything in her power to entice their beaux away from them.Even Mrs.Merriwether, Mrs.Whiting, Mrs.Meade and the other dowagers who had been so cool to her during the last days of the war, forgot her flighty conduct and their disapproval of it and recalled only that she had suffered in their common defeat and that she was Pitty"s niece and Charles"widow.They kissed her and spoke gently with tears in their eyes of her dear mother"s passing and asked at length about her father and her sisters.Everyone asked about Melanie and Ashley, demanding the reason why they, too, had not come back to Atlanta.
In spite of her pleasure at the welcome, Scarlett felt a slight uneasiness which she tried to conceal, an uneasiness about the appearance of her velvet dress. It was still damp to the knees and still spotted about the hem, despite the frantic efforts of Mammy and Cookie with a steaming kettle, a clean hair brushand frantic wavings in front of an open fire.Scarlett was afraid someone would notice her bedraggled state and realize that this was her only nice dress.She was a little cheered by the fact that many of the dresses of the other guests looked far worse than hers.They were so old and had such carefully mended and pressed looks.At least, her dress was whole and new, damp though it was—in fact, the only new dress at the gathering with the exception of Fanny"s whitesatin wedding gown.
Remembering what Aunt Pitty had told her about the Elsing finances, she wondered where the money for the satin dress had been obtained and for the refreshments and decorations and musicians too. It must have cost a pretty penny.Borrowed money probably or else the whole Elsing clan had contributed to give Fanny this expensive wedding.Such a wedding in these hard times seemed to Scarlett an extravagance on a par with the tombstones of the Tarleton boys and she felt the same irritation and lack of sympathy she had felt as she stood in the Tarleton burying ground.The days when money could be thrown away carelessly had passed.Why did these people persist in making the gestures of the old days when the old days were gone？
But she shrugged off her momentary annoyance. It wasn"t her money and she didn"t want her evening"s pleasure spoiled by irritation at other people"s foolishness.
She discovered she knew the groom quite well, for he was Tommy Wellburn from Sparta and she had nursed him in 1863 when he had a wound in his shoulder. He had been a handsome young six-footer then and had given up his medical studies to go in the cavalry.Now he looked like a little old man, so bent was he by the wound in his hip.He walked with some difficulty and, as Aunt Pitty had remarked, spraddled in a very vulgar way.But he seemed totally unaware of his appearance, or unconcerned about it, and had the manner of one who asks no odds from any man.He had given up all hope of continuing his medical studies and was now a contractor, working a labor crew of Irishmen who were building the new hotel.Scarlett wondered how he managed so onerous a job in his condition but asked no questions, realizing wryly that almost anything was possible when necessity drove.
Tommy and Hugh Elsing and the little monkey-like RenéPicard stoodtalking with her while the chairs and furniture were pushed back to the walls in preparation for the dancing.Hugh had not changed since Scarlett last saw him in 1862.He was still the thin sensitive boy with the same lock of pale brown hair hanging over his forehead and the same delicate useless-looking hands she remembered so well.But Renéhad changed since that furlough when he married Maybelle Merriwether.He still had the Gallic twinkle in his black eyes and the Creole zest for living but, for all his easy laughter, there was something hard about his face which had not been there in the early days of the war.And the air of supercilious elegance which had clung about him in his striking Zouave uniform was completely gone.
“Cheeks lak ze rose, eyes lak ze emerald！”he said, kissing Scarlett"s hand and paying tribute to the rouge upon her face.“Pretty lak w"en I first see you at ze bazaar. You remembaire？Nevaire have I forgot how you toss your wedding ring in my basket.Ha, but zat was brave！But I should nevaire have zink you wait so long to get anothaire ring！”
His eyes sparkled wickedly and he dug his elbow into Hugh"s ribs.
“And I never thought you"d be driving a pie wagon, Renny Picard，”she said. Instead of being ashamed at having his degrading occupation thrown in his face, he seemed pleased and laughed uproariously, slapping Hugh on the back.
“Touché！”he cried.“Belle Mbre, Madame Merriwether, she mek me do eet, ze first work I do een all my life, me, RenéPicard, who was to grow old breeding ze race horse, playing ze feedle！Now, I drive ze pie wagon and I lak eet！Madame Belle Mére, she can mek a man do annyzing.She should have been ze general and we win ze war, eh, Tommy？”
Well！thought Scarlett. The idea of liking to drive a pie wagon when his people used to own ten miles along the Mississippi River and a big house in New Orleans, too！
“If we"d had our mothers-in-law in the ranks, we"d have beaten the Yankees in a week，”agreed Tommy, his eyes straying to the slender, indomitable form of his new mother-in-law.“The only reason we lasted as long as we did was because of the ladies behind us who wouldn"t give up.”
“Who"ll never give up，”amended Hugh, and his smile was proud but alittle wry.“There"s not a lady here tonight who has surrendered, no matter what her men folks did at Appomattox. It"s a lot worse on them than it ever was on us.At least, we took it out in fighting.”
“And in hating，”finished Tommy.“Eh, Scarlett？It bothers the ladies to see what their men folks have come to lots more than it bothers us. Hugh was to be a judge, Renéwas to play the fiddle before the crowned heads of Europe—”He ducked as Renéaimed a blow at him.“And I was to be a doctor and now—”
“Geeve us ze time！”cried René“Zen I become ze Pie Prince of ze South！And my good Hugh ze King of ze Kindling and you, my Tommy, you weel own ze Irish slaves instead of ze darky slaves.What change—what fun！And what eet do for you, Mees Scarlett, and Mees Melly？You meelk ze cow, peek ze cotton？”
“Indeed, no！”said Scarlett coolly, unable to understand René’s gay acceptance of hardships.“Our darkies do that.”
“Mees Melly, I hear she call her boy‘Beauregard."You tell her I, René，approve and say that except for‘Jesus’there is no bettaire name.”
And though he smiled, his eyes glowed proudly at the name of Louisiana"s dashing hero.
“Well, there"s‘Robert Edward Lee，"“observed Tommy.“And while I"m not trying to lessen Old Beau"s reputation, my first son is going to be named‘Bob Lee Wellburn."”
Renélaughed and shrugged.
“I recount to you a joke but eet eez a true story. And you see how Creoles zink of our brave Beauregard and of your General Lee.On ze train near New Orleans a man of Virginia, a man of General Lee, he meet wiz a Creole of ze troops of Beauregard.And ze man of Virginia, he talk, talk, talk how General Lee do zis, General Lee say zat.And ze Creole, he look polite and he wreenkle hees forehead lak he try to remembaire, and zen he smile and say：
‘General Lee！Ah, oui！Now I know！General Lee！Ze man General Beauregard speak well of！"”
Scarlett tried to join politely in the laughter but she did not see any point to the story except that Creoles were just as stuck up as Charleston and Savannahpeople. Moreover, she had always thought Ashley"s son should have been named after him.
The musicians after preliminary tunings and whangings broke into“Old Dan Tucker”and Tommy turned to her.
“Will you dance, Scarlett？I can"t favor you but Hugh or René—”
“No, thank you. I"m still mourning my mother，”said Scarlett hastily.“I will sit them out.”
Her eyes singled out Frank Kennedy and beckoned him from the side of Mrs. Elsing.
“I"ll sit in that alcove yonder if you"ll bring me some refreshments and then we can have a nice chat，”she told Frank as the other three men moved off.
When he had hurried away to bring her a glass of wine and a paper thin slice of cake, Scarlett sat down in the alcove at the end of the drawing room and carefully arranged her skirts so that the worst spots would not show. The humiliating events of the morning with Rhett were pushed from her mind by the excitement of seeing so many people and hearing music again.Tomorrow she would think of Rhett"s conduct and her shame and they would make her writhe again.Tomorrow she would wonder if she had made any impression on Frank"s hurt and bewildered heart.But not tonight.Tonight she was alive to her finger tips, every sense alert with hope, her eyes sparkling.
She looked from the alcove into the huge drawing room and watched the dancers, remembering how beautiful this room had been when first she came to Atlanta during the war. Then the hardwood floors had shone like glass, and overhead the chandelier with its hundreds of tiny prisms had caught and reflected every ray of the dozens of candles it bore, flinging them, like gleams from diamonds, flame and sapphire about the room.The on portraits on the walls had been dignified and gracious and had looked down upon guests with an air of mellowed hospitality.The rosewood sofas had been soft and inviting and one of them, the largest, had stood in the place of honor in this same alcove where she now sat.It had been Scarlett"s favorite seat at parties.From this point stretched the pleasant vista of drawing room and dining room beyond, the oval mahogany table which seated twenty and the twenty slimlegged chairs demurely against the walls, the massive sideboard and buffet weighed withheavy silver, with seven-branched candlesticks, goblets, cruets, decanters and shining little glasses.Scarlett had sat on that sofa so often in the first years of the war, always with some handsome officer beside her, and listened to violin and bull fiddle, accordion and banjo, and heard the exciting swishing noises which dancing feet made on the waxed and polished floor.
Now the chandelier hung dark. It was twisted askew and most of the prisms were broken, as if the Yankee occupants had made their beauty a target for their boots.Now an oil lamp and a few candles lighted the room and the roaring fire in the wide hearth gave most of the illumination.Its flickering light showed how irreparably scarred and splintered the dull old floor was.Squares on the faded paper on the wall gave evidence that once the portraits had hung there, and wide cracks in the plaster recalled the day during the siege when a shell had exploded on the house and torn off parts of the roof and second floor.The heavy old mahogany table, spread with cake and decanters, still presided in the empty-looking dining room but it was scratched and the broken legs showed signs of clumsy repair.The sideboard, the silver and the spindly chairs were gone.The dull-gold damask draperies which had covered the arching French windows at the back of the room were missing, and only the remnants of the lace curtains remained, clean but obviously mended.
In place of the curved sofa she had liked so much was a hard bench that was none too comfortable. She sat upon it with as good grace as possible, wishing her skirts were in such condition that she could dance.It would be so good to dance again.But, of course, she could do more with Frank in this sequestered alcove than in a breathless reel and she could listen fascinated to his talk and encourage him to greater flights of foolishness.
But the music certainly was inviting. Her slipper patted longingly in time with old Levi"s large splayed foot as he twanged a strident banjo and called the figures of the reel.Feet swished and scraped and patted as the twin lines danced toward each other, retreated, whirled and made arches of their arms.
“‘Ole Dan Tucker he got drunk—"
（Swing yo"padners！）
‘Fell in de fiah an"he kick up a chunk！"
（Skip light, ladies！）”
After the dull and exhausting months at Tara it was good to hear music again and the sound of dancing feet, good to see familiar friendly faces laughing in the feeble light, caviling old jokes and catchwords, bantering, rallying, coquetting. It was like coming to life again after being dead.It almost seemed that the bright days of five years ago had come back again.If she could close her eyes and not see the worn made-over dresses and the patched boots and mended slippers, if her mind did not call up the faces of boys missing from the reel, she might almost think that nothing had changed.But as she looked, watching the old men grouped about the decanter in the dining room, the matrons lining the walls, talking behind fanless hands, and the swaying, skipping young dancers, it came to her suddenly, coldly, frighteningly that it was all.as greatly changed as if these familiar figures were ghosts.
They looked the same but they were different. What was it？Was it only that they were five years older？No, it was something more than the passing of time.Something had gone out of them, out of their world.Five years ago, a feeling of security had wrapped them all around so gently they were not even aware of it.In its shelter they had flowered.Now it was gone and with it had gone the old thrill, the old sense of something delightful and exciting just around the corner, the old glamor of their way of living.
She knew she had changed too, but not as they had changed, and it puzzled her. She sat and watched them and she felt herself an alien among them, as alien and lonely as if she had come from another world, speaking a language they did not understand and she not understanding theirs.Then she knew that this feeling was the same one she felt with Ashley.With him and with people of his kind—and they made up most of her world—she felt outside of something she could not understand.
Their faces were little changed and their manners not at all but it seemed to her that these two things were all that remained of her old friends. An ageless dignity, a timeless gallantry still clung about them and would cling until they died but they would carry undying bitterness to their graves, a bitterness too deep for words.They were a soft-spoken, fierce, tired people who were defeated and would not know defeat, broken yet standing determinedly erect.They were crushed and helpless, citizens of conquered provinces.They werelooking on the state they loved, seeing it trampled by the enemy, rascals making a mock of the law, their former slaves a menace, their men disfranchised, their women insulted.And they were remembering graves.
Everything in their old world had changed but the old forms. The old usages went on, must go on, for the forms were all that were left to them.They were holding tightly to the things they knew best and loved best in the old days, the leisured manners, the courtesy, the pleasant casualness in human contacts and, most of all, the protecting attitude of the men toward their women.True to the tradition in which they had been reared, the men were courteous and tender and they almost succeeded in creating an atmosphere of sheltering their women from all that was harsh and unfit for feminine eyes.That, thought Scarlett, was the height of absurdity, for there was little, now, which even the most cloistered women had not seen and known in the last five years.They had nursed the wounded, closed dying eyes, suffered war and fire and devastation, known terror and flight and starvation.
But, no matter what sights they had seen, what menial tasks they had done and would have to do, they remained ladies and gentlemen, royalty in exile—bitter, aloof, incurious, kind to one another, diamond hard, as bright and brittle as the crystals of the broken chandelier over their heads. The old days had gone but these people would go their ways as if the old days still existed, charming, leisurely, determined not to rush and scramble for pennies as the Yankees did, determined to part with none of the old ways.
Scarlett knew that she, too, was greatly changed. Otherwise she could not have done the things she had done since she was last in Atlanta；otherwise she would not now be contemplating doing what she desperately hoped to do.But there was a difference in their hardness and hers and just what the difference was, she could not, for the moment, tell.Perhaps it was that there was nothing she would not do, and there were so many things these people would rather die than do.Perhaps it was that they were without hope but still smiling at life, bowing gracefully and passing it by.And this Scarlett could not do.
She could not ignore life. She had to live it and it was too brutal, too hostile, for her even to try to gloss over its harshness with a smile.Of the sweetness and courage and unyielding pride of her friends, Scarlett saw nothing.She saw only a silly stiff-neckedness which observed facts but smiled and refused to look them in the face.
As she stared at the dancers, flushed from the reel, she wondered if things drove them as she was driven, dead lovers, maimed husbands, children who were hungry, acres slipping away, beloved roofs that sheltered strangers. But, of course, they were driven！She knew their circumstances only a little less thoroughly than she knew her own.Their losses had been her losses, their privations her privations, their problems her same problems.Yet they had reacted differently to them.The faces she was seeing in the room were not faces；
they were masks, excellent masks which would never drop.
But if they were suffering as acutely from brutal circumstances as she was—and they were—how could they maintain this air of gaiety and lightness of heart？Why, indeed, should they even try to do it？They were beyond her comprehension and vaguely irritating. She couldn"t be like them.She couldn"t survey the wreck of the world with an air of casual unconcern.She was as hunted as a fox, running with a bursting heart, trying to reach a burrow before the hounds caught up.
Suddenly she hated them all because they were different from her, because they carried their losses with an air that she could never attain, would never wish to attain. She hated them, these smiling, light-footed strangers, these proud fools who took pride in something they had lost, seeming to be proud that they had lost it.The women bore themselves like ladies, though menial tasks were their daily lot and they didn"t know where their next dress was coming from.Ladies all！
But she could not feel herself a lady, for all her velvet dress and scented hair, for all the pride of birth that stood behind her and the pride of wealth that had once been hers.Harsh contact with the red earth of Tara had stripped gentility from her and she knew she would never feel like a lady again until her table was weighted with silver and crystal and smoking with rich food, until her own horses and carriages stood in her stables, until black hands and not white took the cotton from Tara.
“Ah！”she thought angrily, sucking in her breath.“That"s the difference！Even though they"re poor, they still feel like ladies and I don"t. The silly foolsdon"t seem to realize that you can"t be a lady without money！”
Even in this flash of revelation, she realized vaguely that, foolish though they seemed, theirs was the right attitude. Ellen would have thought so.This disturbed her.She knew she should feel as these people felt, but she could not.She knew she should believe devoutly, as they did, that a born lady remained a lady, even if reduced to poverty, but she could not make herself believe it now.
All her life she had heard sneers hurled at the Yankees because their pretensions to gentility were based on wealth, not breeding. But at this moment, heresy though it was, she could not help thinking the Yankees were right on this one matter, even if wroing in all others.It took money to be a lady.She knew Ellen would have fainted had she ever heard such words from her daughter.No depth of poverty could ever have made Ellen feel ashamed.Ashamed！
Yes, that was how Scarlett felt.Ashamed that she was poor and reduced to galling shifts and penury and work that negroes should do.
She shrugged in irritation. Perhaps these people were right and she was wrong but, just the same, these proud fools weren"t looking forward as she was doing, straining every nerve, risking even honor and good name to get back what they had lost.It was beneath the dignity of many of them to indulge in a scramble for money.The times were rude and hard.They called for rude and hard struggle if one was to conquer them.Scarlett knew that family tradition would forcibly restrain many of these people from such a struggle—with the making of money admittedly its aim.They all thought that obvious money-making and even talk of money were vulgar in the extreme.Of course, there were exceptions.Mrs.Merriwether and her baking and Renédriving the pie wagon.And Hugh Elsing cutting and peddling firewood and Tommy contracting.And Frank having the gumption to start a store.But what of the rank and file of them？
The planters would scratch a few acres and live in poverty.The lawyers and doctors would go back to their professions and wait for clients who might never come.And the rest, those who had lived in leisure on their incomes？What would happen to them？
But she wasn"t going to be poor all her life. She wasn"t going to sit down and patiently wait for a miracle to help her.She was going to rush into life andwrest from it what she could.Her father had started as a poor immigrant boy and had won the broad acres of Tara.What he had done, his daughter could do.She wasn"t like these people who had gambled everything on a Cause, because it was worth any sacrifice.They drew their courage from the past.She was drawing hers from the future.Frank Kennedy, at present, was her future.At least, he had the store and he had cash money.And if she could marry him and get her hands on that money, she could make ends meet at Tara for another year.And after that—Frank must buy the sawmill.She could see for herself how quickly the town was rebuilding and anyone who could establish a lumber business now, when there was so little competition, would have a gold mine.
There came to her, from the recesses of her mind, words Rhett had spoken in the early years of the war about the money he made in the blockade. She had not taken the trouble to understand them then, but now they seemed perfectly clear and she wondered if it had been only her youth or plain stupidity which had kept her from appreciating them.
“There"s just as much money to be made in the wreck of a civilization as in the upbuilding of one.”
“This is the wreck he foresaw，”she thought，“and he was right. There"s still plenty of money to be made by anyone who isn"t afraid to work—or to grab.”
She saw Frank coming across the floor toward her with a glass of blackberry wine in his hand and a morsel of cake on a saucer and she pulled her face into a smile. It did not occur to her to question whether Tara was worth marrying Frank.She knew it was worth it and she never gave the matter a second thought.
She smiled up at him as she sipped the wine, knowing that her cheeks were more attractively pink than any of the dancers". She moved her skirts for him to sit by her and waved her handkerchief idly so that the faint sweet smell of the cologne could reach his nose.She was proud of the cologne, for no other woman in the room was wearing any and Frank had noticed it.In a fit of daring he had whispered to her that she was as pink and fragrant as a rose.
If only he were not so shy！He reminded her of a timid old brown fieldrabbit. If only he had the gallantry and ardor of the Tarleton boys or even the coarse impudence of Rhett Butler.But, if he possessed those qualities, he"d probably have sense enough to feel the desperation that lurked just beneath her demurely fluttering eyelids.As it was, he didn"t know enough about women even to suspect what she was up to.That was her good fortune but it did not increase her respect for him.
第三十六章
导读
仅仅两个星期的时间，思嘉如愿以偿地当上了弗兰克的妻子。在这段时间内，思嘉很害怕苏埃伦会写信给弗兰克，还为弗兰克的反应缓慢而焦急，威尔来信说乔纳斯又一次去了塔拉。这一切思嘉都掩饰得很好，弗兰克什么都没有怀疑，并把自己想购买锯木厂的计划告诉了思嘉。思嘉装出十分羡慕的表情，同时不时地为自己的命运黯然神伤。在弗兰克眼中思嘉是那么孤独可怜，因此他几乎每天都到白蝶姑妈家，和思嘉相处的机会越来越多。就这样，两个人用了两个星期的时间便决定结婚，他们的婚礼没有任何亲戚参加，就连证婚人都是陌生人。
婚后弗兰克在思嘉的撒娇下给了她三百美元，起初他并不愿意，因为这样他购买锯木厂的计划就落空了，但是弗兰克不能眼睁睁地看着自己妻子的家人被赶出塔拉。看到思嘉那么开心，弗兰克失落的心情也逐渐平复。威尔回信告诉思嘉一切都已办妥，苏埃伦则写来一封全篇都是骂人话的信，思嘉并没有因此伤心难受。在她心里，只要拯救了塔拉就行了。对于弗兰克与思嘉的婚礼，整个亚特兰大都在讨论，人们很难明白弗兰克为什么会和未婚妻的姐姐结婚。但没人敢直接问思嘉，思嘉火爆的脾气大家都知道。思嘉决定在亚特兰大定居，又开始担心塔拉明年税收的问题，她决定无论如何也要赚钱买下锯木厂。婚后弗兰克发现思嘉在某些方面比自己更精明，她总是向弗兰克打听生意上的事情，这让弗兰克很不高兴。他认为女人是不应该对生意感兴趣的。在托尼·方丹来到亚特兰大做生意时，弗兰克知道了真相，苏埃伦并没有结婚，这一切都是思嘉的谎言。
一想到苏埃伦被自己抛弃，他心里就很不安。弗兰克是个绅士，他不会盘问思嘉，因为这一切都于事无补，至少现在看来自己的婚姻还挺幸福。
婚后不久，弗兰克患上重感冒卧病在床，他很担心店里的生意。思嘉提出自己去商店看看情况，虽然弗兰克反对，但还是没能制止她。思嘉趁此机会察看了弗兰克的账簿，发现很多人都欠弗兰克的钱，而且数目不小。思嘉认为弗兰克如果能收回这些钱的话，肯定可以买下锯木厂，但她明白弗兰克肯定不会向这些老朋友收钱的。当思嘉忙着记下这些债务时，白瑞德竟然推门而入。他依然像以前那样穿着华丽整洁的衣裳，向思嘉大笑着打着招呼，这让思嘉大吃一惊。白瑞德用一贯嘲讽的口吻取笑着思嘉竟然两次都嫁给自己根本不喜欢的男人。他告诉思嘉自己利用华盛顿的关系被赦免无罪，而在利物浦的一家银行存有五十万美元。当初之所以不借钱给思嘉，是因为这会让北方佬发觉；这些钱有一半是白瑞德自己的，还有一些是南部联邦的，但南部联邦已经不存在，所以钱都归于自己。虽然白瑞德语带嘲讽，但最终还是关心塔拉的现状，他让思嘉把一切难处都告诉自己，自己会毫无条件地借钱给她，但如果是为了希礼，那就一切免谈。
思嘉很愤怒，驳斥白瑞德说希礼并没有在塔拉白吃白喝，他也在拼命学会干农活。她向白瑞德提出借钱购买锯木厂的要求，瑞德同意借钱，他会放弃收取贷款利息，但不会放弃谈论卫希礼。他质疑思嘉所谓和希礼的爱，如果希礼真的爱思嘉，就不会让她独自一个人来到亚特兰大筹钱。思嘉认为希礼并不知道，但白瑞德反驳了这种说法，他认为希礼内心肯定清楚思嘉来亚特兰大的原因。这些话使得思嘉意识到瑞德的话是有道理的。瑞德最终还是承诺借钱给思嘉，并在思嘉的要求下陪同她去锯木厂。
思嘉最终买下了锯木厂，这让弗兰克很不满，他始终认为女人不应该涉及生意，这些会让他在人们的面前很丢脸。起初弗兰克以为思嘉只是在和自己开玩笑，但看到思嘉每天早出晚归，他明白思嘉是认真的。在这期间，弗兰克都不敢露面，亚特兰大到处都在议论思嘉，也许很多人也在说弗兰克的闲话，这种情况一直持续了好长时间。更让他难堪的是，思嘉确实从锯木厂赚了钱，并且还提出在查理留下的仓库旧址上盖间酒吧出租，这样可以赚取更多的钱买下更多的锯木厂。弗兰克被思嘉的计划和想法惊呆了，他无法想象婚前与婚后的思嘉差别竟然这么大。婚前那胆小无助、孤独无知的可爱的思嘉，婚后怎会变得如此坚决果断，像男人一样在做生意，到处奔波。弗兰克为此很痛苦，但更让他难以接受的是白瑞德竟然经常拜访白蝶姑妈家。他感觉到白瑞德的目的并不是拜访白蝶姑妈，战争时期白瑞德曾经照顾过思嘉，就连一向见人害羞的韦德见到白瑞德都亲切地叫他叔叔，这让弗兰克心里很难受。
外面的人为此议论更加强烈，弗兰克的朋友们不敢和他说什么，但弗兰克明显感觉到别人正在减少和自己的接触，思嘉并不在乎别人的眼光，但弗兰克受不了。他一直很在乎邻居的眼光，现在自己妻子的做法却让大家很不满，只要弗兰克一提起这些事情，思嘉便大发雷霆。她的脾气已经坏到极点，稍有不顺便大发脾气。这个时候，大家都会躲到自己的房间里，除了这些年来已经习惯的嬷嬷。
思嘉自己并不是存心发脾气的，她非常感激弗兰克在塔拉苦难的时候慷慨解囊，但她受不了弗兰克的懦弱无能。弗兰克根本不具备成功商人的品质，他一直不肯收回老朋友的欠款，这让思嘉很烦恼。弗兰克那种旧的传统思想和经商理念已经跟不上时代的脚步，像那样经营顶多只能解决温饱问题。思嘉的锯木厂竞争越来越激烈，每次回家埋怨的时候弗兰克总会劝她放弃，这又惹得思嘉不停地发脾气。如果弗兰克自己没有赚钱的能力，就不应该对自己的生意加以阻止。弗兰克为了得到安宁只得让步，他不再唠叨，为了让思嘉把精力放在家庭上，他想到了孩子。如果有了孩子，思嘉就没有时间经营锯木厂，到时候只能呆在家里照顾孩子。很多次夜里醒来，弗兰克总会发现思嘉埋在枕头里哭泣，却又不说是什么事情，弗兰克只觉得自己似乎越来越无奈，只能把希望全部寄托于孩子身上。
She married Frank Kennedy two weeks later after a whirlwindcourtship which she blushingly told him left her too breathless to oppose his ardor any longer.
He did not know that during those two weeks she had walked the floor at night, gritting her teeth at the slowness with which he took hints and encouragements, praying that no untimely letter from Suellen would reach him and ruin her plans. She thanked God that her sister was the poorest of correspondents, delighting to receive letters and disliking to write them.But there was always a chance, always a chance, she thought in the long night hours as she padded back and forth across the cold floor of her bedroom, with Ellen"s faded shawl clutched about her nightdress.Frank did not know she had received a laconic letter from Will, relating that Jonas Wilkerson had paid another call at Tara and, finding her gone to Atlanta, had stormed about untilWill and Ashley threw him bodily off the place.Will"s letter hammered into her mind the fact she knew only too well—that time was getting shorter and shorter before the extra taxes must be paid.A fierce desperation drove her as she saw the days slipping by and she wished she might grasp the hourglass in her hands and keep the sands from running.
But so well did she conceal her feelings, so well did she enact her role, Frank suspected nothing, saw no more than what lay on the surface—the pretty and helpless young widow of Charles Hamilton who greeted him every night in Miss Pittypat"s parlor and listened, breathless with admiration, as he told of future plans for his store and how much money he expected to make when he was able to buy the sawmill. Her sweet sympathy and her bright-eyed interest in every word he uttered were balm upon the wound left by Suellen"s supposed defection.His heart was sore and bewildered at Suellen"s conduct and his vanity, the shy, touchy vanity of a middle-aged bachelor who knows himself to be unattractive to women, was deeply wounded.He could not write Suellen, upbraiding her for her faithlessness；
he shrank from the very idea.But he could ease his heart by talking about her to Scarlett.Without saying a disloyal word about Suellen, she could tell him she understood how badly her sister had treated him and what good treatment he merited from a woman who really appreciated him.
Little Mrs. Hamilton was such a pretty pink-cheeked person, alternating between melancholy sighs when she thought of her sad plight, and laughter as gay and sweet as the tinkling of tiny silver bells when he made small jokes to cheer her.Her green gown, now neatly cleaned by Mammy, showed off her slender figure with its tiny waist to perfection, and how bewitching was the faint fragrance which always clung about her handkerchief and her hair！
It was a shame that such a fine little woman should be alone and helpless in a world so rough that she didn"t even understand its harshness.No husband nor brother nor even a father now to protect her.Frank thought the world too rude a place for a lone woman and, in that idea, Scarlett silently and heartily concurred.
He came to call every night, for the atmosphere of Pitty"s house was pleasant and soothing. Mammy"s smile at the front door was the smile reserved for quality folks, Pitty served him coffee laced with brandy and fluttered abouthim and Scarlett hung on his every utterance.Sometimes in the afternoons he took Scarlett riding with him in his buggy when he went out on business.These rides were merry affairs because she asked so many foolish questions—“just like a woman，”he told himself approvingly.He couldn"t help laughing at her ignorance about business matters and she laughed too, saying：
“Well, of course, you can"t expect a silly little woman like me to understand men"s affairs.”
She made him feel, for the first time in his old-maidish life, that he was a strong upstanding man fashioned by God in a nobler mold than other men, fashioned to protect silly helpless women.
When, at last, they stood together to be married, her confiding little hand in his and her downcast lashes throwing thick black crescents on her pink cheeks, he still did not know how it all came about. He only knew he had done something romantic and exciting for the first time in his life.He, Frank Kennedy, had swept this lovely creature off her feet and into his strong arms.That was a heady feeling.
No friend or relative stood up with them at their marriage. The witnesses were strangers called in from the street.Scarlett had insisted on that and he had given in, though reluctantly, for he would have liked his sister and his brother-in-law from Jonesboro to be with him.And a reception with toasts drunk to the bride in Miss Pitty"s parlor and happy friends would have been a joy to him.But Scarlett would not hear of even Miss Pitty being present.
“Just us two, Frank，”she begged, squeezing his arm.“Like an elopement. I always did want to run away and be married！Please, sweetheart, just for me！”
It was that endearing term, still so new to his ears, and the bright teardrops which edged her pale green eyes as she looked up pleadingly at him that won him over. After all, a man had to make some concessions to his bride, especially about the wedding, for women set such a store by sentimental things.
And before he knew it, he was married.
Frank gave her the three hundred dollars, bewildered by her sweet urgency, reluctant at first, because it meant the end of his hope of buying the sawmill immediately. But he could not see her family evicted, and his disappointment soon faded at the sight of her radiant happiness, disappeared entirely at the loving way she“took on”over his generosity.Frank had never before had awoman“take on”over him and he came to feel that the money had been well spent, after all.
Scarlett dispatched Mammy to Tara immediately for the triple purpose of giving Will the money, announcing her marriage and bringing Wade to Atlanta. In two days she had a brief note from Will which she carried about with her and read and reread with mounting joy.Will wrote that the taxes had been paid and Jonas Wilkerson“acted up pretty bad”at the news but had made no other threats so far.Will closed by wishing her happiness, a laconic formal statement which he qualified in no way.She knew Will understood what she had done and why she had done it and neither blamed nor praised.But what must Ashley think？
she wondered feverishly.What must he think of me now, after what I said to him so short a while ago in the orchard at Tara？
She also had a letter from Suellen, poorly spelled, violent, abusive, tear splotched, a letter so full of venom and truthful observations upon her character that she was never to forget it nor forgive the writer. But even Suellen"s words could not dim her happiness that Tara was safe, at least from immediate danger.
It was hard to realize that Atlanta and not Tara was her permanent home now. In her desperation to obtain the tax money, no thought save Tara and the fate which threatened it had any place in her mind.Even at the moment of marriage, she had not given a thought to the fact that the price she was paying for the safety of home was permanent exile from it.Now that the deed was done, she realized this with a wave of homesickness hard to dispel.But there it was.She had made her bargain and she intended to stand by it.And she was so grateful to Frank for saving Tara she felt a warm affection for him and an equally warm determination that he should never regret marrying her.
The ladies of Atlanta knew their neighbors"business only slightly less completely than they knew their own and were far more interested in it. They all knew that for years Frank Kennedy had had an“understanding”with Suellen O"Hara.In fact, he had said, sheepishly, that he expected to get married in the spring.So the tumult of gossip, surmise and deep suspicion which followed the announcement of his quiet wedding to Scarlett was not surprising.Mrs.Merriwether, who never let her curiosity go long unsatisfied if she could help it, asked him point-blank just what he meant by marrying one sister whenhe was betrothed to the other.She reported to Mrs.Elsing that all the answer she got for her pains was a silly look.Not even Mrs.Merriwether, doughty soul that she was, dared to approach Scarlett on the subject.Scarlett seemed demure and sweet enough these days, but there was a pleased complacency in her eyes which annoyed people and she carried a chip on her shoulder which no one cared to disturb.
She knew Atlanta was talking but she did not care. After all, there wasn"t anything immoral in marrying a man.Tara was safe.Let people talk.She had too many other matters to occupy her mind.The most important was how to make Frank realize, in a tactful manner, that his store should bring in more money.After the fright Jonas Wilkerson had given her, she would never rest easy until she and Frank had some money ahead.And even if no emergency developed, Frank would need to make more money, if she was going to save enough for next year"s taxes.Moreover, what Frank had said about the sawmill stuck in her mind.Frank could make lots of money out of a mill.Anybody could, with lumber selling at such outrageous prices.She fretted silently because Frank"s money had not been enough to pay the taxes on Tara and buy the mill as well.And she made up her mind that he had to make more money on the store somehow, and do it quickly, so he could buy that mill before someone else snapped it up.She could see it was a bargain.
If she were a man she would have that mill, if she had to mortgage the store to raise the money. But, when she intimated this delicately to Frank, the day after they married, he smiled and told her not to bother her sweet pretty little head about business matters.It had come as a surprise to him that she even knew what a mortgage was and, at first, he was amused.But this amusement quickly passed and a sense of shock took its place in the early days of their marriage.Once, incautiously, he had told her that“people”（he was careful not to mention names）owed him money but could not pay just now and he was, of course, unwilling to press old friends and gentlefolk.Frank regretted ever mentioning it for, thereafter, she had questioned him about it again and again.She had the most charmingly childlike air but she was just curious, she said, to know who owed him and how much they owed.Frank was very evasive about the matter.He coughed nervously and waved his hands andrepeated his annoying remark about her sweet pretty little head.
It had begun to dawn on him that this same pretty little head was a“good head for figures.”In fact, a much better one than his own and the knowledge was disquieting. He was thunderstruck to discover that she could swiftly add a long column of figures in her head when he needed a pencil and paper for more than three figures.And fractions presented no difficulties to her at all.He felt there was something unbecoming about a woman understanding fractions and business matters and he believed that, should a woman be so unfortunate as to have such unladylike comprehension, she should pretend not to.Now he disliked talking business with her as much as he had enjoyed it before they were married.Then he had thought it all beyond her mental grasp and it had been pleasant to explain things to her.Now he saw that she understood entirely too well and he felt the usual masculine indignation at the duplicity of women.Added to it was the usual masculine disillusionment in discovering that a woman has a brain.
Just how early in his married life Frank learned of the deception Scarlett had used in marrying him, no one ever knew. Perhaps the truth dawned on him when Tony Fontaine, obviously fancy free, came to Atlanta on business.Perhaps it was told him more directly in letters from his sister in Jonesboro who was astounded at his marriage.Certainly he never learned from Suellen herself.She never wrote him and naturally he could not write her and explain.What good would explanations do anyway, now that he was married？
He writhed inwardly at the thought that Suellen would never know the truth and would always think he had senselessly jilted her.Probably everyone else was thinking this too and criticizing him.It certainly put him in an awkward position.And he had no way of clearing himself, for a man couldn"t go about saying he had lost his head about a woman—and a gentleman couldn"t advertise the fact that his wife had entrapped him with a lie.
Scarlett was his wife and a wife was entitled to the loyalty of her husband. Furthermore, he could not bring himself to believe she had married him coldly and with no affection for him at all.His masculine vanity would not permit such a thought to stay long in his mind.It was more pleasant to think she had fallen so suddenly in love with him she had been willing to lie to get him.But itwas all very puzzling.He knew he was no great catch for a woman half his age and pretty and smart to boot, but Frank was a gentleman and he kept his bewilderment to himself.Scarlett was his wife and he could not insult her by asking awkward questions which, after all, would not remedy matters.
Not that Frank especially wanted to remedy matters, for it appeared that his marriage would be a happy one. Scarlett was the most charming and exciting of women and he thought her perfect in all things—except that she was so headstrong.Frank learned early in his marriage that so long as she had her own way, life could be very pleasant, but when she was opposed—Given her own way, she was as gay as a child, laughed a good deal, made foolish little jokes, sat on his knee and tweaked his beard until he vowed he felt twenty years younger.She could be unexpectedly sweet and thoughtful, having his slippers toasting at the fire when he came home at night, fussing affectionately about his wet feet and interminable head colds, remembering that he always liked the gizzard of the chicken and three spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee.Yes, life was very sweet and cozy with Scarlett—as long as she had her own way.
When the marriage was two weeks old, Frank contracted the grippe and Dr. Meade put him to bed.In the first year of the war, Frank had spent two months in the hospital with pneumonia and he had lived in dread of another attack since that time, so he was only too glad to lie sweating under three blankets and drink the hot concoctions Mammy and Aunt Pitty brought him every hour.
The illness dragged on and Frank worried more and more about the store as each day passed. The place was in charge of the counter boy, who came to the house every night to report on the day"s transactions, but Frank was not satisfied.He fretted until Scarlett who had only been waiting for such an opportunity laid a cool hand on his forehead and said：
“Now, sweetheart, I shall be vexed if you take on so.I"ll go to town and see how things are.”
And she went, smiling as she smothered his feeble protests. During the three weeks of her new marriage, she had been in a fever to see his account books and find out just how money matters stood.What luck that he was bedridden！
The store stood near Five Points, its new roof glaring against the smoked bricks of the old walls. Wooden awnings covered the sidewalk to the edge ofthe street, and at the long iron bars connecting the uprights horses and mules were hitched, their heads bowed against the cold misty rain, their backs covered with torn blankets and quilts.The inside of the store was almost like Bullard"s store in Jonesboro, except that there were no loungers about the roaring red-hot stove, whittling and spitting streams of tobacco juice at the sand boxes.It was bigger than Bullard"s store and much darker.The wooden awnings cut off most of the winter daylight and the interior was dim and dingy, only a trickle of light coming in through the small fly-specked windows high up on the side walls.The floor was covered with muddy sawdust and everywhere was dust and dirt.There was a semblance of order in the front of the store, where tall shelves rose into the gloom stacked with bright bolts of cloth, china, cooking utensils and notions.But in the back, behind the partition, chaos reigned.
Here there was no flooring and the assorted jumble of stock was piled helterskelter on the hard-packed earth. In the semidarkness she saw boxes and bales of goods, plows and harness and saddles and cheap pine coffins.Secondhand furniture, ranging from cheap gum to mahogany and rosewood, reared up in the gloom, and the rich but worn brocade and horsehair upholstery gleamed incongruously in the dingy surroundings.China chambers and bowl and pitcher sets littered the floor and all around the four walls were deep bins, so dark she had to hold the lamp directly over them to discover they contained seeds, nails, bolts and carpenters"tools.
“I"d think a man as fussy and old maidish as Frank would keep things tidier，”she thought, scrubbing her grimy hands with her handkerchief.“This place is a pig pen. What a way to run a store！If he"d only dust up this stuff and put it out in front where folks could see it, he could sell things much quicker.”
And if his stock was in such condition, what mustn"t his accounts be！
I"ll look at his account book now, she thought and, picking up the lamp, she went into the front of the store. Willie, the counter boy, was reluctant to give her the large dirty-backed ledger.It was obvious that, young as he was, he shared Frank"s opinion that women had no place in business.But Scarlett silenced him with a sharp word and sent him out to get his dinner.She felt better when he was gone, for his disapproval annoyed her, and she settledherself in a split-bottomed chair by the roaring stove, tucked one foot under her and spread the book across her lap.It was dinner time and the streets were deserted.No customers called and she had the store to herself.
She turned the pages slowly, narrowly scanning the rows of names and figures written in Frank"s cramped copperplate hand. It was just as she had expected, and she frowned as she saw this newest evidence of Frank"s business sense.At least five hundred dollars in debts, some of them months old, were set down against the names of people she knew well, the Merriwethers and the Elsings among other familiar names.From Frank"s deprecatory remarks about the money“people”owed him, she had imagined the sums to be small.But this！
“If they can"t pay, why do they keep on buying？”she thought irritably.“And if he knows they can"t pay, why does he keep on selling them stuff？Lots of them could pay if he"d just make them do it. The Elsings certainly could if they could give Fanny a new satin dress and an expensive wedding.Frank"s just too soft hearted, and people take advantage of him.Why, if he"d collected half this money, he could have bought the sawmill and easily spared me the tax money, too.”
Then she thought：“Just imagine Frank trying to operate a sawmill！God"s nightgown！If he runs this store like a charitable institution, how could he expect to make money on a mill？The sheriff would have it in a month. Why, I could run this store better than he does！And I could run a mill better than he could, even if I don"t know anything about the lumber business！
”
A startling thought this, that a woman could handle business matters as well as or better than a man, a revolutionary thought to Scarlett who had been reared in the tradition that men were omniscient and women none too bright. Of course, she had discovered that this was not altogether true but the pleasant fiction still stuck in her mind.Never before had she put this remarkable idea into words.She sat quite still, with the heavy book across her lap, her mouth a little open with surprise, thinking that during the lean months at Tara she had done a man"s work and done it well.She had been brought up to believe that a woman alone could accomplish nothing, yet she had managed the plantation without men to help her until Will came.Why, why, her mind stuttered, Ibelieve women could manage everything in the world without men"s help—except having babies, and God knows, no woman in her right mind would have babies if she could help it.
With the idea that she was as capable as a man came a sudden rush of pride and a violent longing to prove it, to make money for herself as men made money. Money which would be her own, which she would neither have to ask for nor account for to any man.
“I wish I had money enough to buy that mill myself，”she said aloud and sighed.“I"d sure make it hum. And I wouldn"t let even one splinter go out on credit.”
She sighed again. There was nowhere she could get any money, so the idea was out of the question.Frank would simply have to collect this money owing him and buy the mill.It was a sure way to make money, and when he got the mill, she would certainly find some way to make him be more businesslike in its operation than he had been with the store.
She pulled a back page out of the ledger and began copying the list of debtors who had made no payments in several months. She"d take the matter up with Frank just as soon as she reached home.She"d make him realize that these people had to pay their bills even if they were old friends, even if it did embarrass him to press them for money.That would probably upset Frank, for he was timid and fond of the approbation of his friends.He was so thin skinned he"d rather lose the money than be businesslike about collecting it.
And he"d probably tell her that no one had any money with which to pay him. Well, perhaps that was true.Poverty was certainly no news to her.But nearly everybody had saved some silver or jewelry or was hanging onto a little real estate.Frank could take them in lieu of cash.
She could imagine how Frank would moan when she broached such an idea to him. Take the jewelry and property of his friends！Well, she shrugged, he can moan all he likes.I"m going to tell him that he may be willing to stay poor for friendship"s sake but I"m not.Frank will never get anywhere if he doesn"t get up some gumption.And he"s got to get somewhere！
He’s got to make money, even if I’ve got to wear the pants in the family to make him do it.
She was writing busily, her face screwed up with the effort, her tongueclamped between her teeth, when the front door opened and a great draft of cold wind swept the store. A tall man came into the dingy room walking with a light Indian-like tread, and looking up she saw Rhett Butler.
He was resplendent in new clothes and a greatcoat with a dashing cape thrown back from his heavy shoulders. His tall hat was off in a deep bow when her eyes met his and his hand went to the bosom of a spotless pleated shirt.His white teeth gleamed startlingly against his brown face and his bold eyes raked her.
“My dear Mrs. Kennedy，”he.said, walking toward her.“My very dear Mrs.Kennedy！”and he broke into a loud merry laugh.
At first she was as startled as if a ghost had invaded the store and then, hastily removing her foot from beneath her, she stiffened her spine and gave him a cold stare.
“What are you doing here？”
“I called on Miss Pittypat and learned of your marriage and so I hastened here to congratulate you.”
The memory of her humiliation at his hands made her go crimson with shame.
“I don"t see how you have the gall to face me！”she cried.
“On the contrary！How have you the gall to face me？”
“Oh, you are the most—”
“Shall we let the bugles sing truce？”He smiled down at her, a wide flashing smile that had impudence in it but no shame for his own actions or condemnation for hers. In spite of herself, she had to smile too, but it was a wry, uncomfortable smile.
“What a pity they didn"t hang you！”
“Others share your feeling, I fear. Come, Scarlett, relax.You look like you"d swallowed a ramrod and it isn"t becoming.Surely, you"ve had time to recover from my—er—my little joke.”
“Joke？Ha！I"ll never get over it！”
“Oh, yes, you will. You are just putting on this indignant front because you think it"s proper and respectable.May I sit down？”
“No.”
He sank into a chair beside her and grinned.
“I hear you couldn"t even wait two weeks for me，”he said and gave a mock sigh.“How fickle is woman！”
When she did not reply he continued.
“Tell me, Scarlett, just between friends—between very old and very intimate friends—wouldn"t it have been wiser to wait until I got out of jail？Or are the charms of wedlock with old Frank Kennedy more alluring than illicit relations with me？”
As always when his mockery aroused wrath within her, wrath fought with laughter at his impudence.
“Don"t be absurd.”
“And would you mind satisfying my curiosity on one point which has bothered me for some time？Did you have no womanly repugnance, no delicate shrinking from marrying not just one man but two for whom you had no love or even affection？Or have I been misinformed about the delicacy of our Southern womanhood？”
“Rhett！”
“I have my answer. I always felt that women had a hardness and endurance unknown to men, despite the pretty idea taught me in childhood that women are frail, tender, sensitive creatures.But after all, according to the Continental code of etiquette, it"s very bad form for husband and wife to love each other.Very bad taste, indeed.I always felt that the European had the right idea in that matter.Marry for convenience and love for pleasure.A sensible system, don"t you think？
You are closer to the old country than I thought.”
How pleasant it would be to shout at him：“I did not marry for convenience！”But unfortunately, Rhett had her there and any protest of injured innocence would only bring more barbed remarks from him.
“How you do run on，”she said coolly. Anxious to change the subject, she asked：“How did you ever get out of jail？”
“Oh, that！”he answered, making an airy gesture.“Not much trouble. They let me out this morning.I employed a delicate system of blackmail on a friend in Washington who is quite high in the councils of the Federal government.A spleendid fellow—one of the staunch Union patriots from whom I used to buymuskets and hoop skirts for the Confederacy.When my distressing predicament was brought to his attention in the right way, he hastened to use his influence, and so I was released.Influence is everything, Scarlett.Remember that when you get arrested.Influence is everything, and guilt or innocence merely an academic question.”
“I"ll take oath you weren"t innocent.”
“No, now that I am free of the toils, I"ll frankly admit that I"m as guilty as Cain. I did kill the nigger.He was uppity to a lady, and what else could a Southern gentleman do？And while I"m confessing, I must admit that I shot a Yankee cavalryman after some words in a barroom.I was not charged with that peccadillo, so perhaps some other poor devil has been hanged for it, long since.”
He was so blithe about his murders her blood chilled. Words of moral indignation rose to her lips but suddenly she remembered the Yankee who lay under the tangle of scuppernong vines at Tara.He had not been on her conscience any more than a roach upon which she might have stepped.She could not sit in judgment on Rhett when she was as guilty as he.
“And, as I seem to be making a clean breast of it, I must tell you, in strictest confidence（that means, don"t tell Miss Pittypat！）that I did have the money, safe in a bank in Liverpool.”
“The money？”
“Yes, the money the Yankees were so curious about. Scarlett, it wasn"t altogether meanness that kept me from giving you the money you wanted.If I"d drawn a draft they could have traced it somehow and I doubt if you"d have gotten a cent.My only hope lay in doing nothing.I knew the money was pretty safe, for if worst came to worst, if they had located it and tried to take it away from me, I would have named every Yankee patriot who sold me bullets and machinery during the war.Then there would have been a stink, for some of them are high up in Washington now.In fact, it was my threat to unbosom my conscience about them that got me out of jail.I—”
“Do you mean you—you actually have the Confederate gold？”
“Not all of it. Good Heavens, no！There must be fifty or more exblockaders who have plenty salted away in Nassau and England and Canada.We will be pretty unpopular with the Confederates who weren"t as slick as we were.I have got close to half a million.Just think, Scarlett, a half-million dollars, if you"d only restrained your fiery nature and not rushed into wedlock again！
”
A half-million dollars. She felt a pang of almost physical sickness at the thought of so much money.It was hard to believe there was so much money in all this bitter and poverty-stricken world.So much money, so very much money, and someone else had it, someone who took it lightly and didn"t need it.And she had only a sick elderly husband and this dirty, piddling, little store between her and a hostile world.It wasn"t fair that a reprobate like Rhett Butler should have so much and she, who carried so heavy a load, should have so little.She hated him, sitting there in his dandified attire, taunting her.Well, she wouldn"t swell his conceit by complimenting him on his cleverness.She longed viciously for sharp words with which to cut him.
“I suppose you think it"s honest to keep the Confederate money. Well, it isn"t.It"s plain out and out stealing and you know it.I wouldn"t have that on my conscience.”
“My！How sour the grapes are today！”he exclaimed, screwing up his face.“And just whom am I stealing from？”
She was silent, trying to think just whom indeed. After all, he had only done what Frank had done on a small scale.
“Half the money is honestly mine，”he continued，“honestly made with the aid of honest Union patriots who were willing to sell out the Union behind its back—for one-hundred-per-cent profit on their goods. Part I made out of my little investment in cotton at the beginning of the war, the cotton I bought cheap and sold for a dollar a pound when the British mills were crying for it.Part I got from food speculation.Why should I let the Yankees have the fruits of my labor？
But the rest did belong to the Confederacy.It came from Confederate cotton which I managed to run through the blockade and sell in Liverpool at sky-high prices.The cotton was given me in good faith to buy leather and rifles and machinery with.And it was taken by me in good faith to buy the same.My orders were to leave the gold in English banks, under my own name, in order that my credit would be good.You remember when the blockade tightened, Icouldn"t get a boat out of any Confederate port or into one, so there the money stayed in England.What should I have done？
Drawn out all that gold from English banks, like a simpleton, and tried to run it into Wilmington？And let the Yankees capture it？Was it my fault that the blockade got too tight？Was it my fault that our Cause failed？The money belonged to the Confederacy.Well, there is no Confederacy now—though you"d never know it, to hear some people talk.Whom shall I give the money to？
The Yankee government？I should so hate for people to think me a thief.”
He removed a leather case from his pocket, extracted a long cigar and smelled it approvingly, meanwhile watching her with pseudo anxiety as if he hung on her words.
Plague take him, she thought, he"s always one jump ahead of me. There is always something wrong with his arguments but I never can put my finger on just what it is.
“You might，”she said with dignity，“distribute it to those who are in need. The Confederacy is gone but there are plenty of Confederates and their families who are starving.”
He threw back his head and laughed rudely.
“You are never so charming or so absurd as when you are airing some hypocrisy like that，”he cried in frank enjoyment.“Always tell the truth, Scarlett. You can"t lie.The Irish are the poorest liars in the world.Come now, be frank.You never gave a damn about the late lamented Confederacy and you care less about the starving Confederates.You"d scream in protest if I even suggested giving away all that money unless I started off by giving you the lion"s share.”
“I don"t want your money，”she began, trying to be coldly dignified.
“Oh, don"t you！Your palm is itching to beat the band this minute. If I showed you a quarter, you"d leap on it.”
“If you have come here to insult me and laugh at my poverty, I will wish you good day，”she retorted, trying to rid her lap of the heavy ledger so she might rise and make her Words more impressive. Instantly, he was on his feet bending over her, laughing as he pushed her back into her chair.
“When will you ever get over losing your temper when you hear the truth？You never mind speaking the truth about other people, so why should you mind hearing it about yourself？I"m not insulting you. I think acquisitiveness is a very fine quality.”
She was not sure what acquisitiveness meant but as he praised it she felt slightly mollified.
“I didn"t come to gloat over your poverty but to wish you long life and happiness in your marriage. By the way, what did sister Sue think of your larceny？”
“My what？”
“Your stealing Frank from under her nose.”
“I did not—”
“Well, we won"t quibble about the word. What did she say？”
“She said nothing，”said Scarlett. His eyes danced as they gave her the lie.“How unselfish of her.Now, let"s hear about your poverty.Surely I have
the right to know, after your little trip out to the jail not long ago. Hasn"t Frank as much money as you hoped？”
There was no evading his impudence. Either she would have to put up with it or ask him to leave.And now she did not want him to leave.His words were barbed but they were the barbs of truth.He knew what she had done and why she had done it and he did not seem to think the less of her for it.And though his questions were unpleasantly blunt, they seemed actuated by a friendly interest.He was one person to whom she could tell the truth.That would be a relief, for it had been so long since she had told anyone the truth about herself and her motives.Whenever she spoke her mind everyone seemed to be shocked.Talking to Rhett was comparable only to one thing, the feeling of ease and comfort afforded by a pair of old slippers after dancing in a pair too tight.
“Didn"t you get the money for the taxes？Don"t tell me the wolf is still at the door of Tara.”There was a different tone in his voice.
She looked up to meet his dark eyes and caught an expression which startled and puzzled her at first, and then made her suddenly smile, a sweet and charming smile which was seldom on her face these days. What a perverse wretch he was, but how nice he could be at times！She knew now that the realreason for his call was not to tease her but to make sure she had gotten the money for which she had been so desperate.She knew now that he had hurried to her as soon as he was released, without the slightest appearance of hurry, to lend her the money if she still needed it.And yet he would torment and insult her and deny that such was his intent, should she accuse him.He was quite beyond all comprehension.Did he really care about her, more than he was willing to admit？
Or did he have some other motive？Probably the latter, she thought.But who could tell？He did such strange things sometimes.
“No，”she said，“the wolf isn"t at the door any longer. I—I got the money.
“But not without a struggle, I"ll warrant. Did you manage to restrainyourself until you got the wedding ring on your finger？”
She tried not to smile at his accurate summing up of her conduct but she could not help dimpling. He seated himself again, sprawling his long legs comfortably.
“Well, tell me about your poverty. Did Frank, the brute, mislead you about his prospects？He should be soundly thrashed for taking advantage of a helpless female.Come, Scarlett, tell me everything.You should have no secrets from me.Surely, I know the worst about you.”
“Oh, Rhett, you"re the worst—well, I don"t know what！No, he didn"t exactly fool me but—”Suddenly it became a pleasure to unburden herself.“Rhett, if Frank would just collect the money people owe him, I wouldn"t be worried about anything. But, Rhett, fifty people owe him and he won"t press them.He’s so thin skinned.He says a gentleman can’t do that to another gentleman.And it may be months and may be never before we get the money.”
“Well, what of it？Haven"t you enough to eat on until he does collect？”
“Yes, but—well, as a matter of fact, I could use a little money right now.”Her eyes brightened as she thought of the mill. Perhaps—
“What for？More taxes？”
“Is that any of your business？”
“Yes, because you are getting ready to touch me for a loan. Oh, I know all the approaches.And I"ll lend it to you—without, my dear Mrs.Kennedy, that charming collateral you offered me a short while ago.Unless, of course, you insist.”
“You are the coarsest—”
“Not at all. I merely wanted to set your mind at ease.I knew you"d be worried about that point.Not much worried but a little.And I"m willing to lend you the money.But I do want to know how you are going to spend it.I have that right, I believe.If it"s to buy you pretty frocks or a carriage, take it with my blessing.But if it"s to buy a new pair of breeches for Ashley Wilkes, I fear I must decline to lend it.”
She was hot with sudden rage and she stuttered until words came.
“Ashley Wilkes has never taken a cent from me！I couldn"t make him take a cent if he were starving！You don"t understand him, how honorable, how proud he is！Of course, you can"t understand him, being what you are—”
“Don"t let"s begin calling names. I could call you a few that would match any you could think of for me.You forget that I have been keeping up with you through Miss Pittypat, and the dear soul tells all she knows to any sympathetic listener.I know that Ashley has been at Tara ever since he came home from Rock Island.I know that you have even put up with having his wife around, which must have been a strain on you.
“Ashley is—”
“Oh, yes，”he said, waving his hand negligently.“Ashley is too sublime for my earthy comprehension. But please don"t forget I was an interested witness to your tender scene with him at Twelve Oaks and something tells me he hasn"t changed since then.And neither have you.He didn"t cut so sublime a figure that day, if I remember rightly.And I don"t think the figure he cuts now is much better.Why doesn"t he take his family and get out and find work？
And stop living at Tara？Of course, it’s just a whim of mine, but I don’t intend to lend you a cent for Tara to help support him.Among men, there’s a very unpleasant name for men who permit women to support them.”
“How dare you say such things？He"s been working like a field hand！”For all her rage, her heart was wrung by the memory of Ashley splitting fence rails.
“And worth his weight in gold, I dare say. What a hand he must be with the manure and—”
“He"s—”
“Oh, yes, I know. Let"s grant that he does the best he can but I don"timagine he"s much help.You"ll never make a farm hand out of a Wilkes—or anything else that"s useful.The breed is purely ornamental.Now, quiet your ruffling feathers and overlook my boorish remarks about the proud and honorable Ashley.Strange how these illusions will persist even in women as hard headed as you are.How much money do you want and what do you want it for？
”
When she did not answer he repeated：
“What do you want it for？And see if you can manage to tell me the truth. It will do as well as a lie.In fact, better, for if you lie to me, I"ll be sure to find it out, and think how embarrassing that would be.Always remember this, Scarlett, I can stand anything from you but a lie—your dislike for me, your tempers, all your vixenish ways, but not a lie.Now what do you want it for？
”
Raging as she was at his attack on Ashley, she would have given anything to spit on him and throw his offer of money proudly into his mocking face. For a moment she almost did, but the cold hand of common sense held her back.She swallowed her anger with poor grace and tried to assume an expression of pleasant dignity.He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs toward the stove.
“If there"s one thing in the world that gives me more amusement than anything else，”he remarked，“it"s the sight of your mental struggles when a matter of principle is laid up against something practical like money. Of course, I know the practiceal in you will always win, but I keep hanging around to see if your better nature won"t triumph some day.And when that day comes I shall pack my bag and leave Atlanta forever.There are too many women whose better natures are always triumphing…
…Well, let"s get back to business.How much and what for？”
“I don"t know quite how much I"ll need，”she said sulkily.“But I want to buy a sawmill—and I think I can get it cheap. And I"ll need two wagons and two mules.I want good mules, too.And a horse and buggy for my own use.”
“A sawmill？”
“Yes, and if you"ll lend me the money, I"ll give you a half-interest in it.”
“Whatever would I do with a sawmill？”
“Make money！We can make loads of money. Or I"ll pay you interest onthe loan—let"s see, what is good interest？”
“Fifty per cent is considered very fine.”
“Fifty—oh, but you are joking！Stop laughing, you devil. I"m serious.”
“That"s why I"m laughing. I wonder if anyone but me realizes what goes on in that head back of your deceptively sweet face.”
“Well, who cares？Listen, Rhett, and see if this doesn"t sound like a good business to you. Frank told me about this man who has a sawmill, a little one out Peachtree road, and he wants to sell it.He"s got to have cash money pretty quick and he"ll sell it cheap.There aren"t many sawmills around here now, and the way people are rebuilding—why, we could sell lumber sky high.The man will stay and run the mill for a wage.Frank told me about it.Frank would buy the mill himself if he had the money.I guess he was intending buying it with the money he gave me for the taxes.”
“Poor Frank！What is he going to say when you tell him you"ve bought it yourself right out from under him？And how are you going to explain my lending you the money without compromising your reputation？”
Scarlett had given no thought to this, so intent was she upon the money the mill would bring in.
“Well, I just won"t tell him.”
“He"ll know you didn"t pick it off a bush.”
“I"ll tell him—why, yes, I"ll tell him I sold you my diamond earbobs. And I will give them to you, too.That"ll be my collat—my whatchucallit.”
“I wouldn"t take your earbobs.”
“I don"t want them. I don"t like them.They aren"t really mine, anyway.”
“Whose are they？”
Her mind went swiftly back to the still hot noon with the country hush deep about Tara and the dead man in blue sprawled in the hall.
“They were left with me—by someone who"s dead. They"re mine all right.Take them.I don"t want them.I"d rather have the money for them.”
“Good Lord！”he cried impatiently.“Don"t you ever think of anything but money？”
“No，”she replied frankly, turning hard green eyes upon him.“And if you"d been through what I have, you wouldn"t either. I"ve found out thatmoney is the most important thing in the world and, as God is my witness, I don"t ever intend to be without it again.”
She remembered the hot sun, the soft red earth under her sick head, the niggery smell of the cabin behind the ruins of Twelve Oaks, remembered the refrain her heart had beaten：“I"ll never be hungry again. I"ll never be hungry again.”
“I"m going to have money some day, lots of it, so I can have anything I want to eat. And then there"ll never be any hominy or dried peas on my table.And I"m going to have pretty clothes and all of them are going to be silk—”
“All？”
“All，”she said shortly, not even troubling to blush at his implication.“I"m going to have money enough so the Yankees can never take Tara away from me. And I"m going to have a new roof for Tara and a new barn and fine mules for plowing and more cotton than you ever saw.And Wade isn"t ever going to know what it means to do without the things he needs.Never！
He"s going to have everything in the world.And all my family, they aren"t ever going to be hungry again.I mean it.Every word.You don’t understand, you’re such a selfish hound.You’ve never had the Carpetbaggers trying to drive you out.You’ve never been cold and ragged and had to break your back to keep from starving！”
He said quietly：“I was in the Confederate Army for eight months. I don"t know any better place for starving.”