It was the first time in her life she had been sorry for anyone

without feeling contemptuous as well, because it was the first time

she had ever approached understanding any other human being. And

she could understand his shrewd caginess, so like her own, his

obstinate pride that kept him from admitting his love for fear of a

rebuff.

"Ah, darling," she said coming forward, hoping he would put out his

arms and draw her to his knees. "Darling, I'm so sorry but I'll

make it all up to you! We can be so happy, now that we know the

truth and--Rhett--look at me, Rhett! There--there can be other

babies--not like Bonnie but--"

"Thank you, no," said Rhett, as if he were refusing a piece of

bread. "I'll not risk my heart a third time."

"Rhett, don't say such things! Oh, what can I say to make you

understand? I've told you how sorry I am--"

"My darling, you're such a child. You think that by saying,

'I'm sorry,' all the errors and hurts of years past can be

remedied, obliterated from the mind, all the poison drawn from

old wounds. . . . Take my handkerchief, Scarlett. Never, at any

crisis of your life, have I known you to have a handkerchief."

She took the handkerchief, blew her nose and sat down. It was

obvious that he was not going to take her in his arms. It was

beginning to be obvious that all his talk about loving her meant

nothing. It was a tale of a time long past, and he was looking at

it as though it had never happened to him. And that was

frightening. He looked at her in an almost kindly way, speculation

in his eyes.

"How old are you, my dear? You never would tell me."

"Twenty-eight," she answered dully, muffled in the handkerchief.

"That's not a vast age. It's a young age to have gained the whole

world and lost your own soul, isn't it? Don't look frightened.

I'm not referring to hell fire to come for your affair with Ashley.

I'm merely speaking metaphorically. Ever since I've known you,

you've wanted two things. Ashley and to be rich enough to tell the

world to go to hell. Well, you are rich enough and you've spoken

sharply to the world and you've got Ashley, if you want him. But

all that doesn't seem to be enough now."

She was frightened but not at the thought of hell fire. She was

thinking: "But Rhett is my soul and I'm losing him. And if I lose

him, nothing else matters! No, not friends or money or--or

anything. If only I had him I wouldn't even mind being poor again.

No, I wouldn't mind being cold again or even hungry. But he can't

mean-- Oh, he can't!"

She wiped her eyes and said desperately:

"Rhett, if you once loved me so much, there must be something left

for me."

"Out of it all I find only two things that remain and they are the

two things you hate the most--pity and an odd feeling of kindness."

Pity! Kindness! "Oh, my God," she thought despairingly. Anything

but pity and kindness. Whenever she felt these two emotions for

anyone, they went hand in hand with contempt. Was he contemptuous

of her too? Anything would be preferable to that. Even the

cynical coolness of the war days, the drunken madness that drove

him the night he carried her up the stairs, his hard fingers

bruising her body, or the barbed drawling words that she now

realized had covered a bitter love. Anything except this