If she could only be transferred by magic to Tara and to safety. If she could only be with Ellen, just to see her, to hold onto her skirt, to cry and pour out the whole story in her lap.If she had to listen to another word, she'd rush in and pull out Honey's straggly pale hair in big handfuls and spit on Melanie Hamilton to show her just what she thought of her charity.But she'd already acted common enough today, enough like white trash—that was where all her trouble lay.
She pressed her hands hard against her skirts, so they would not rustle and backed out as stealthily as an animal. Home, she thought, as she sped down the hall, past the closed doors and still rooms, I must go home.
She was already on the front porch when a new thought brought her up sharply—she couldn't go home!She couldn't run away!She would have to see it through, bear all the malice of the girls and her own humiliation and heartbreak. To run away would only give them more ammunition.
She pounded her clenched fist against the tall white pillar beside her, and she wished that she were Samson, so that she could pull down all of Twelve Oaks and destroy every person in it. She'd make them sorry.She'd show them.She didn't quite see how she'd show them, but she'd do it all the same.She'd hurt them worse than they hurt her.
For the moment, Ashley as Ashley was forgotten. He was not the tall drowsy boy she loved but part and parcel of the Wilkeses, Twelve Oaks, the County—and she hated them all because they laughed.Vanity was stronger than love at sixteen and there was no room in her hot heart now for anything but hate.
“I won't go home,”she thought.“I'll stay here and I'll make them sorry. And I'll never tell Mother.No, I'll never tell anybody.”She braced herself to go back into the house, to reclimb the stairs and go into another bedroom.
As she turned, she saw Charles coming into the house from the other end of the long hall. When he saw her, he hurried toward her.His hair was tousledand his face near geranium with excitement.
“Do you know what's happened?”he cried, even before he reached her.“Have you heard?Paul Wilson just rode over from Jonesboro with the news!”
He paused, breathless, as he came up to her. She said nothing and only stared at him.
“Mr. Lincoln has called for men, soldiers—I mean volunteers—seventy-five thousand of them!”
Mr. Lincoln again!Didn't men ever think about anything that really mattered?Here was this fool expecting her to be excited about Mr.Lincoln's didoes when her heart was broken and her reputation as good as ruined.
Charles stared at her. Her face was paper white and her narrow eyes blazing like emeralds.He had never seen such fire in any girl's face, such a glow in anyone's eyes.
“I'm so clumsy,”he said.“I should have told you more gently. I forgot how delicate ladies are.I'm sorry I've upset you so.You don't feel faint, do you?Can I get you a glass of water?”
“No,”she said, and managed a crooked smile.
“Shall we go sit on the bench?”he asked, taking her arm.
She nodded and he carefully handed her down the front steps and led her across the grass to the iron bench beneath the largest oak in the front yard. How fragile and tender women are, he thought, the mere mention of war and harshness makes them faint.The idea made him feel very masculine and he was doubly gentle as he seated her.She looked so strangely, and there was a wild beauty about her white face that set his heart leaping.Could it be that she was distressed by the thought that he might go to the war?No, that was too conceited for belief.But why did she look at him so oddly?And why did her hands shake as they fingered her lace handkerchief?And her thick sooty lashes—they were fluttering just like the eyes of girls in romances he had read, fluttering with timidity and love.
He cleared his throat three times to speak and failed each time. He dropped his eyes because her own green ones met his so piercingly, almost as if she were not seeing him.
“He has a lot of money,”she was thinking swiftly, as a thought and a planwent through her brain.“And he hasn't any parents to bother me and he lives in Atlanta. And if I married him right away, it would show Ashley that I didn't care a rap—that I was only flirting with him.And it would just kill Honey.She'd never, never catch another beau and everybody'd laugh fit to die at her.And it would hurt Melanie, because she loves Charles so much.And it would hurt Stu and Brent—”She didn't quite know why she wanted to hurt them, except that they had catty sisters.“And they'd all be sorry when I came back here to visit in a fine carriage and with lots of pretty clothes and a house of my own.And they would never, never laugh at me.”
“Of course, it will mean fighting,”said Charles, after several more embarrassed attempts.”But don't you fret, Miss Scarlett, it'll be over in a month and we'll have them howling. Yes, sir!Howling!I wouldn't miss it for anything.I'm afraid there won't be much of a ball tonight, because the Troop is going to meet at Jonesboro.The Tarleton boys have gone to spread the news.I know the ladies will be sorry.”
She said,“Oh,”for want of anything better, but it sufficed.
Coolness was beginning to come back to her and her mind was collecting itself. A frost lay over all her emotions and she thought that she would never feel anything warmly again.Why not take this retty, flushed boy?He was as good as any one else and she didn't care.No, she could never care about anything again, not if she lived to be ninety.
“I can't decide now whether to go with Mr. Wade Hampton's South Carolina Legion or with the Atlanta Gate City Guard.”
She said,“Oh,”again and their eyes met and the fluttering lashes were his undoing.
