I wouldn't put it beyond you. In fact, I wouldn't put anything

beyond you where either Tara or Ashley is concerned. I don't mind

Tara. But I must draw the line at Ashley. I'm riding you with a

slack rein, my pet, but don't forget that I'm riding with curb and

spurs just the same."

CHAPTER XLIX

Mrs. Elsing cocked her ear toward the hall. Hearing Melanie's

steps die away into the kitchen where rattling dishes and clinking

silverware gave promise of refreshments, she turned and spoke

softly to the ladies who sat in a circle in the parlor, their

sewing baskets in their laps.

"Personally, I do not intend to call on Scarlett now or ever," she

said, the chill elegance of her face colder than usual.

The other members of the Ladies' Sewing Circle for the Widows and

Orphans of the Confederacy eagerly laid down their needles and

edged their rocking chairs closer. All the ladies had been

bursting to discuss Scarlett and Rhett but Melanie's presence

prevented it. Just the day before, the couple had returned from

New Orleans and they were occupying the bridal suite at the

National Hotel.

"Hugh says that I must call out of courtesy for the way Captain

Butler saved his life," Mrs. Elsing continued. "And poor Fanny

sides with him and says she will call too. I said to her 'Fanny,'

I said, 'if it wasn't for Scarlett, Tommy would be alive this

minute. It is an insult to his memory to call.' And Fanny had no

better sense than to say, 'Mother, I'm not calling on Scarlett.

I'm calling on Captain Butler. He tried his best to save Tommy and

it wasn't his fault if he failed.'"

"How silly young people are!" said Mrs. Merriwether. "Call,

indeed!" Her stout bosom swelled indignantly as she remembered

Scarlett's rude reception of her advice on marrying Rhett. "My

Maybelle is just as silly as your Fanny. She says she and Rene

will call, because Captain Butler kept Rene from getting hanged.

And I said if it hadn't been for Scarlett exposing herself, Rene

would never have been in any danger. And Father Merriwether

intends to call and he talks like he was in his dotage and says

he's grateful to that scoundrel, even if I'm not. I vow, since

Father Merriwether was in that Watling creature's house he has

acted in a disgraceful way. Call, indeed! I certainly shan't

call. Scarlett has outlawed herself by marrying such a man. He

was bad enough when he was a speculator during the war and making

money out of our hunger but now that he is hand in glove with the

Carpetbaggers and Scallawags and a friend--actually a friend of

that odious wretch, Governor Bullock-- Call, indeed!"

Mrs. Bonnell sighed. She was a plump brown wren of a woman with a

cheerful face.

"They'll only call once, for courtesy, Dolly. I don't know that I

blame them. I've heard that all the men who were out that night

Intend to call, and I think they should. Somehow, it's hard for me

to think that Scarlett is her mother's child. I went to school

with Ellen Robillard in Savannah and there was never a lovelier

girl than she was and she was very dear to me. If only her father

had not opposed her match with her cousin, Philippe Robillard!

There was nothing really wrong with the boy--boys must sow their

wild oats. But Ellen must run off and marry old man O'Hara and

have a daughter like Scarlett. But really, I feel that I must call

once out of memory to Ellen."

"Sentimental nonsense!" snorted Mrs. Merriwether with vigor.

"Kitty Bonnell, are you going to call on a woman who married a bare

year after her husband's death? A woman--"

"And she really killed Mr. Kennedy," interrupted India. Her voice

was cool but acid. Whenever she thought of Scarlett it was hard

for her even to be polite, remembering, always remembering Stuart

Tarleton. "And I have always thought there was more between her

and that Butler man before Mr. Kennedy was killed than most people

suspected."

Before the ladies could recover from their shocked astonishment at

her statement and at a spinster mentioning such a matter, Melanie

was standing in the doorway. So engrossed had they been in their

gossip that they had not heard her light tread and now, confronted

by their hostess, they looked like whispering schoolgirls caught by

a teacher. Alarm was added to consternation at the change in

Melanie's face. She was pink with righteous anger, her gentle eyes

snapping fire, her nostrils quivering. No one had ever seen

Melanie angry before. Not a lady present thought her capable of

wrath. They all loved her but they thought her the sweetest, most

pliable of young women, deferential to her elders and without any

opinions of her own.

"How dare you, India?" she questioned in a low voice that shook.

"Where will your jealousy lead you? For shame!"