Impersonal kindness that was written so plainly in his face.

"Then--then you mean I've ruined it all--that you don't love me any

more?"

"That's right."

"But," she said stubbornly, like a child who still feels that to

state a desire is to gain that desire, "but I love you!"

"That's your misfortune."

She looked up quickly to see if there was a jeer behind those words

but there was none. He was simply stating a fact. But it was a

fact she still would not believe--could not believe. She looked at

him with slanting eyes that burned with a desperate obstinacy and

the sudden hard line of jaw that sprang out through her soft cheek

was Gerald's jaw.

"Don't be a fool, Rhett! I can make--"

He flung up a hand in mock horror and his black brows went up in

the old sardonic crescents.

"Don't look so determined, Scarlett! You frighten me. I see you

are contemplating the transfer of your tempestuous affections from

Ashley to me and I fear for my liberty and my peace of mind. No,

Scarlett, I will not be pursued as the luckless Ashley was pursued.

Besides, I am going away."

Her jaw trembled before she clenched her teeth to steady it. Go

away? No, anything but that! How could life go on without him?

Everyone had gone from her, everyone who mattered except Rhett. He

couldn't go. But how could she stop him? She was powerless

against his cool mind, his disinterested words.

"I am going away. I intended to tell you when you came home from

Marietta."

"You are deserting me?"

"Don't be the neglected, dramatic wife, Scarlett. The role isn't

becoming. I take it, then, you do not want a divorce or even a

separation? Well, then, I'll come back often enough to keep gossip

down."

"Damn gossip!" she said fiercely. "It's you I want. Take me with

you!"

"No," he said, and there was finality in his voice. For a moment

she was on the verge of an outburst of childish wild tears. She

could have thrown herself on the floor, cursed and screamed and

drummed her heels. But some remnant of pride, of common sense

stiffened her. She thought, if I did, he'd only laugh, or just

look at me. I mustn't bawl; I mustn't beg. I mustn't do anything

to risk his contempt. He must respect me even--even if he doesn't

love me.

She lifted her chin and managed to ask quietly:

"Where will you go?"

There was a faint gleam of admiration in his eyes as he answered.

"Perhaps to England--or to Paris. Perhaps to Charleston to try to

make peace with my people."

"But you hate them! I've heard you laugh at them so often and--"

He shrugged.

"I still laugh--but I've reached the end of roaming, Scarlett. I'm

forty-five--the age when a man begins to value some of the things

he's thrown away so lightly in youth, the clannishness of families,

honor and security, roots that go deep-- Oh, no! I'm not recanting,

I'm not regretting anything I've ever done. I've had a hell of a

good time--such a hell of a good time that it's begun to pall and

now I want something different. No, I never intend to change more

than my spots. But I want the outer semblance of the things I used

to know, the utter boredom of respectability--other people's

respectability, my pet, not my own--the calm dignity life can have

when it's lived by gentle folks, the genial grace of days that are

gone. When I lived those days I didn't realize the slow charm of

them--"

Again Scarlett was back in the windy orchard of Tara and there was

the same look in Rhett's eyes that had been in Ashley's eyes that

day. Ashley's words were as clear in her ears as though he and not

Rhett were speaking. Fragments of words came back to her and she

quoted parrot-like: "A glamor to it--a perfection, a symmetry like

Grecian art."

Rhett said sharply: "Why did you say that? That's what I meant."

"It was something that--that Ashley said once, about the old days."

He shrugged and the light went out of his eyes.

"Always Ashley," he said and was silent for a moment.

"Scarlett, when you are forty-five, perhaps you will know what I'm

talking about and then perhaps you, too, will be tired of imitation

gentry and shoddy manners and cheap emotions. But I doubt it. I

think you'll always be more attracted by glister than by gold.

Anyway, I can't wait that long to see. And I have no desire to

wait. It just doesn't interest me. I'm going to hunt in old towns

and old countries where some of the old times must still linger.