Volition. But even as she spoke it, a sudden calm fell on her

spirit, her head began to stop spinning and even the giddiness of

the brandy was lessened. She had promised to marry him when she

had had no intention of promising. She hardly knew how it had all

come about but she was not sorry. It now seemed very natural that

she had said Yes--almost as if by divine intervention, a hand

stronger than hers was about her affairs, settling her problems for

her.

He drew a quick breath as she spoke and bent as if to kiss her

again and her eyes closed and her head fell back. But he drew back

and she was faintly disappointed. It made her feel so strange to

be kissed like this and yet there was something exciting about it.

He sat very still for a while holding her head against his shoulder

and, as if by effort, the trembling of his arms ceased. He moved

away from her a little and looked down at her. She opened her eyes

and saw that the frightening glow had gone from his face. But

somehow she could not meet his gaze and she dropped her eyes in a

rush of tingling confusion.

When he spoke his voice was very calm.

"You meant it? You don't want to take it back?"

"No."

"It's not just because I've--what is the phrase?--'swept you off

your feet' by my--er--ardor?"

She could not answer for she did not know what to say, nor could

she meet his eyes. He put a hand under her chin and lifted her

face.

"I told you once that I could stand anything from you except a lie.

And now I want the truth. Just why did you say Yes?"

Still the words would not come, but, a measure of poise returning,

she kept her eyes demurely down and tucked the corners of her mouth

into a little smile.

"Look at me. Is it my money?"

"Why, Rhett! What a question!"

"Look up and don't try to sweet talk me. I'm not Charles or Frank

or any of the County boys to be taken in by your fluttering lids.

Is it my money?"

"Well--yes, a part."

"A part?"

He did not seem annoyed. He drew a swift breath and with an effort

wiped from his eyes the eagerness her words had brought, an

eagerness which she was too confused to see.

"Well," she floundered helplessly, "money does help, you know,

Rhett, and God knows Frank didn't leave any too much. But then--

well, Rhett, we do get on, you know. And you are the only man I

ever saw who could stand the truth from a woman, and it would be

nice having a husband who didn't think me a silly fool and expect

me to tell lies--and--well, I am fond of you."

"Fond of me?"

"Well," she said fretfully, "if I said I was madly in love with

you, I'd be lying and what's more, you'd know it."

"Sometimes I think you carry your truth telling too far, my pet.

Don't you think, even if it was a lie, that it would be appropriate

for you to say 'I love you, Rhett,' even if you didn't mean it?"

What was he driving at, she wondered, becoming more confused. He

looked so queer, eager, hurt, mocking. He took his hands from her

and shoved them deep in his trousers pockets and she saw him ball

his fists.

"If it costs me a husband, I'll tell the truth," she thought

grimly, her blood up as always when he baited her.

"Rhett, it would be a lie, and why should we go through all that

foolishness? I'm fond of you, like I said. You know how it is.

You told me once that you didn't love me but that we had a lot in

common. Both rascals, was the way you--"

"Oh, God!" he whispered rapidly, turning his head away. "To be

taken in my own trap!"

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," and he looked at her and laughed, but it was not a

pleasant laugh. "Name the day, my dear," and he laughed again and

bent and kissed her hands. She was relieved to see his mood pass

and good humor apparently return, so she smiled too.

He played with her hand for a moment and grinned up at her.

"Did you ever in your novel reading come across the old situation

of the disinterested wife falling in love with her own husband?"

"You know I don't read novels," she said and, trying to equal his

jesting mood, went on: "Besides, you once said it was the height

of bad form for husbands and wives to love each other."

"I once said too God damn many things," he retorted abruptly and

rose to his feet.

"Don't swear."

"You'll have to get used to it and learn to swear too. You'll have

to get used to all my bad habits. That'll be part of the price of

being--fond of me and getting your pretty paws on my money."

"Well, don't fly off the handle so, because I didn't lie and make

you feel conceited. You aren't in love with me, are you? Why

should I be in love with you?"

"No, my dear, I'm not in love with you, no more than you are with

me, and if I were, you would be the last person I'd ever tell. God

help the man who ever really loves you. You'd break his heart, my

darling, cruel, destructive little cat who is so careless and

confident she doesn't even trouble to sheathe her claws."

He jerked her to her feet and kissed her again, but this time his

lips were different for he seemed not to care if he hurt her--

seemed to want to hurt her, to insult her. His lips slid down to

her throat and finally he pressed them against the taffeta over her

breast, so hard and so long that his breath burnt to her skin. Her

hands struggled up, pushing him away in outraged modesty.

"You mustn't! How dare you!"

"Your heart's going like a rabbit's," he said mockingly. "All too

fast for mere fondness I would think, if I were conceited. Smooth

your ruffled feathers. You are just putting on these virginal

airs. Tell me what I shall bring you from England. A ring? What

kind would you like?"

She wavered momentarily between interest in his last words and a

feminine desire to prolong the scene with anger and indignation.

"Oh--a diamond ring--and Rhett, do buy a great big one."

"So you can flaunt it before your poverty-stricken friends and say

'See what I caught!' Very well, you shall have a big one, one so

big that your less-fortunate friends can comfort themselves by

whispering that it's really vulgar to wear such large stones."

He abruptly started off across the room and she followed him,

bewildered, to the closed doors.

"What is the matter? Where are you going?"

"To my rooms to finish packing."

"Oh, but--"

"But, what?"

"Nothing. I hope you have a nice trip."

"Thank you."

He opened the door and walked into the hall. Scarlett trailed

after him, somewhat at a loss, a trifle disappointed as at an

unexpected anticlimax. He slipped on his coat and picked up his

gloves and hat.

"I'll write you. Let me know if you change your mind."

"Aren't you--"

"Well?" He seemed impatient to be off.

"Aren't you going to kiss me good-by?" she whispered, mindful of

the ears of the house.

"Don't you think you've had enough kissing for one evening?" he

retorted and grinned down at her. "To think of a modest, well-

brought-up young woman-- Well, I told you it would be fun, didn't

I?"

"Oh, you are impossible!" she cried in wrath, not caring if Mammy

did hear. "And I don't care if you never come back."

She turned and flounced toward the stairs, expecting to feel his

warm hand on her arm, stopping her. But he only pulled open the

front door and a cold draft swept in.

"But I will come back," he said and went out, leaving her on the

bottom step looking at the closed door.

The ring Rhett brought back from England was large indeed, so large

it embarrassed Scarlett to wear it. She loved gaudy and expensive

jewelry but she had an uneasy feeling that everyone was saying,

with perfect truth, that this ring was vulgar. The central stone

was a four-carat diamond and, surrounding it, were a number of

emeralds. It reached to the knuckle of her finger and gave her

hand the appearance of being weighted down. Scarlett had a

suspicion that Rhett had gone to great pains to have the ring made

up and, for pure meanness, had ordered it made as ostentatious as

possible.

Until Rhett was back in Atlanta and the ring on her finger she told

no one, not even her family, of her intentions, and when she did

announce her engagement a storm of bitter gossip broke out. Since

the Klan affair Rhett and Scarlett had been, with the exception of

the Yankees and Carpetbaggers, the town's most unpopular citizens.

Everyone had disapproved of Scarlett since the far-away day when

she abandoned the weeds worn for Charlie Hamilton. Their

disapproval had grown stronger because of her unwomanly conduct in

the matter of the mills, her immodesty in showing herself when she

was pregnant and so many other things. But when she brought about

the death of Frank and Tommy and jeopardized the lives of a dozen

other men, their dislike flamed into public condemnation.

As for Rhett, he had enjoyed the town's hatred since his

speculations during the war and he had not further endeared himself

to his fellow citizens by his alliances with the Republicans since

then. But, oddly enough, the fact that he had saved the lives of

some of Atlanta's most prominent men was what aroused the hottest

hate of Atlanta's ladies.