minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

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with such languid grace. There was John Wilkes, too; and Gerald,
red with brandy; and a whisper and a fragrance that was Ellen.
Over it all rested a sense of security, a knowledge that tomorrow
could only bring the same happiness today had brought.

His voice stopped and they looked for a long quiet moment into each
other's eyes and between them lay the sunny lost youth that they
had so unthinkingly shared.

"Now I know why you can't be happy," she thought sadly. "I never
understood before. I never understood before why I wasn't
altogether happy either. But--why, we are talking like old people
talk!" she thought with dreary surprise. "Old people looking back
fifty years. And we're not old! It's just that so much has
happened in between. Everything's changed so much that it seems
like fifty years ago. But we're not old!"

But when she looked at Ashley he was no longer young and shining.
His head was bowed as he looked down absently at her hand which he
still held and she saw that his once bright hair was very gray,
silver gray as moonlight on still water. Somehow the bright beauty
had gone from the April afternoon and from her heart as well and
the sad sweetness of remembering was as bitter as gall.

"I shouldn't have let him make me look back," she thought
despairingly. "I was right when I said I'd never look back. It
hurts too much, it drags at your heart till you can't ever do
anything else except look back. That's what's wrong with Ashley.
He can't look forward any more. He can't see the present, he fears
the future, and so he looks back. I never understood it before. I
never understood Ashley before. Oh, Ashley, my darling, you
shouldn't look back! What good will it do? I shouldn't have let
you tempt me into talking of the old days. This is what happens
when you look back to happiness, this pain, this heartbreak, this
discontent."

She rose to her feet, her hand still in his. She must go. She
could not stay and think of the old days and see his face, tired
and sad and bleak as it now was.

"We've come a long way since those days, Ashley," she said, trying
to steady her voice, trying to fight the constriction in her
throat. "We had fine notions then, didn't we?" And then, with a
rush, "Oh, Ashley, nothing has turned out as we expected!"

"It never does," he said. "Life's under no obligation to give us
what we expect. We take what we get and are thankful it's no worse
than it is."

Her heart was suddenly dull with pain, with weariness, as she
thought of the long road she had come since those days. There rose
up in her mind the memory of Scarlett O'Hara who loved beaux and
pretty dresses and who intended, some day, when she had the time,
to be a great lady like Ellen.

Without warning, tears started in her eyes and rolled slowly down
her cheeks and she stood looking at him dumbly, like a hurt
bewildered child. He said no word but took her gently in his arms,
pressed her head against his shoulder and, leaning down, laid his
cheek against hers. She relaxed against him and her arms went
round his body. The comfort of his arms helped dry her sudden
tears. Ah, it was good to be in his arms, without passion, without
tenseness, to be there as a loved friend. Only Ashley who shared
her memories and her youth, who knew her beginnings and her present
could understand.

She heard the sound of feet outside but paid little heed, thinking
it was the teamsters going home. She stood for a moment, listening
to the slow beat of Ashley's heart. Then suddenly he wrenched
himself from her, confusing her by his violence. She looked up
into his face in surprise but he was not looking at her. He was
looking over her shoulder at the door.

She turned and there stood India, white faced, her pale eyes
blazing, and Archie, malevolent as a one-eyed parrot. Behind them
stood Mrs. Elsing.



How she got out of the office she never remembered. But she went
instantly, swiftly, by Ashley's order, leaving Ashley and Archie in
grim converse in the little room and India and Mrs. Elsing outside
with their backs to her. Shame and fear sped her homeward and, in
her mind, Archie with his patriarch's beard assumed the proportions
of an avenging angel straight from the pages of the Old Testament.

The house was empty and still in the April sunset. All the
servants had gone to a funeral and the children were playing in
Melanie's back yard. Melanie--

Melanie! Scarlett went cold at the thought of her as she climbed
the stairs to her room. Melanie would hear of this. India had
said she would tell her. Oh, India would glory in telling her, not
caring if she blackened Ashley's name, not caring if she hurt
Melanie, if by so doing she could injure Scarlett! And Mrs. Elsing
would talk too, even though she had really seen nothing, because
she was behind India and Archie in the door of the lumber office.
But she would talk, just the same. The news would be all over town
by supper time. Everyone, even the negroes, would know by
tomorrow's breakfast. At the party tonight, women would gather in

with such languid grace. There was John Wilkes, too; and Gerald,

red with brandy; and a whisper and a fragrance that was Ellen.

Over it all rested a sense of security, a knowledge that tomorrow

could only bring the same happiness today had brought.

His voice stopped and they looked for a long quiet moment into each

other's eyes and between them lay the sunny lost youth that they

had so unthinkingly shared.

"Now I know why you can't be happy," she thought sadly. "I never

understood before. I never understood before why I wasn't

altogether happy either. But--why, we are talking like old people

talk!" she thought with dreary surprise. "Old people looking back

fifty years. And we're not old! It's just that so much has

happened in between. Everything's changed so much that it seems

like fifty years ago. But we're not old!"

But when she looked at Ashley he was no longer young and shining.

His head was bowed as he looked down absently at her hand which he

still held and she saw that his once bright hair was very gray,

silver gray as moonlight on still water. Somehow the bright beauty

had gone from the April afternoon and from her heart as well and

the sad sweetness of remembering was as bitter as gall.

"I shouldn't have let him make me look back," she thought

despairingly. "I was right when I said I'd never look back. It

hurts too much, it drags at your heart till you can't ever do

anything else except look back. That's what's wrong with Ashley.

He can't look forward any more. He can't see the present, he fears

the future, and so he looks back. I never understood it before. I

never understood Ashley before. Oh, Ashley, my darling, you

shouldn't look back! What good will it do? I shouldn't have let

you tempt me into talking of the old days. This is what happens

when you look back to happiness, this pain, this heartbreak, this

discontent."

She rose to her feet, her hand still in his. She must go. She

could not stay and think of the old days and see his face, tired

and sad and bleak as it now was.

"We've come a long way since those days, Ashley," she said, trying

to steady her voice, trying to fight the constriction in her

throat. "We had fine notions then, didn't we?" And then, with a

rush, "Oh, Ashley, nothing has turned out as we expected!"

"It never does," he said. "Life's under no obligation to give us

what we expect. We take what we get and are thankful it's no worse

than it is."

Her heart was suddenly dull with pain, with weariness, as she

thought of the long road she had come since those days. There rose

up in her mind the memory of Scarlett O'Hara who loved beaux and

pretty dresses and who intended, some day, when she had the time,

to be a great lady like Ellen.

Without warning, tears started in her eyes and rolled slowly down

her cheeks and she stood looking at him dumbly, like a hurt

bewildered child. He said no word but took her gently in his arms,

pressed her head against his shoulder and, leaning down, laid his

cheek against hers. She relaxed against him and her arms went

round his body. The comfort of his arms helped dry her sudden

tears. Ah, it was good to be in his arms, without passion, without

tenseness, to be there as a loved friend. Only Ashley who shared

her memories and her youth, who knew her beginnings and her present

could understand.

She heard the sound of feet outside but paid little heed, thinking

it was the teamsters going home. She stood for a moment, listening

to the slow beat of Ashley's heart. Then suddenly he wrenched

himself from her, confusing her by his violence. She looked up

into his face in surprise but he was not looking at her. He was

looking over her shoulder at the door.

She turned and there stood India, white faced, her pale eyes

blazing, and Archie, malevolent as a one-eyed parrot. Behind them

stood Mrs. Elsing.

How she got out of the office she never remembered. But she went

instantly, swiftly, by Ashley's order, leaving Ashley and Archie in

grim converse in the little room and India and Mrs. Elsing outside

with their backs to her. Shame and fear sped her homeward and, in

her mind, Archie with his patriarch's beard assumed the proportions

of an avenging angel straight from the pages of the Old Testament.

The house was empty and still in the April sunset. All the

servants had gone to a funeral and the children were playing in

Melanie's back yard. Melanie--

Melanie! Scarlett went cold at the thought of her as she climbed

the stairs to her room. Melanie would hear of this. India had

said she would tell her. Oh, India would glory in telling her, not

caring if she blackened Ashley's name, not caring if she hurt

Melanie, if by so doing she could injure Scarlett! And Mrs. Elsing

would talk too, even though she had really seen nothing, because

she was behind India and Archie in the door of the lumber office.

But she would talk, just the same. The news would be all over town

by supper time. Everyone, even the negroes, would know by

tomorrow's breakfast. At the party tonight, women would gather in