minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

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As though he read her mind, Rhett's hand closed upon her arm in a
grip that would leave a bruise, the rough grip of a careless
stranger.

"I've never known an Irishman to be a coward. Where's your much-
vaunted courage?"

"Rhett, do please, let me go home and explain."

"You have eternity in which to explain and only one night to be a
martyr in the amphitheater. Get out, darling, and let me see the
lions eat you. Get out."

She went up the walk somehow, the arm she was holding as hard and
steady as granite, communicating to her some courage. By God, she
could face them and she would. What were they but a bunch of
howling, clawing cats who were jealous of her? She'd show them.
She didn't care what they thought. Only Melanie--only Melanie.

They were on the porch and Rhett was bowing right and left, his hat
in his hand, his voice cool and soft. The music stopped as they
entered and the crowd of people seemed to her confused mind to
surge up to her like the roar of the sea and then ebb away, with
lessening, ever-lessening sound. Was everyone going to cut her?
Well, God's nightgown, let them do it! Her chin went up and she
smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Before she could turn to speak to those nearest the door, someone
came through the press of people. There was an odd hush that
caught Scarlett's heart. Then through the lane came Melanie on
small feet that hurried, hurried to meet Scarlett at the door, to
speak to her before anyone else could speak. Her narrow shoulders
were squared and her small jaw set indignantly and, for all her
notice, she might have had no other guest but Scarlett. She went
to her side and slipped an arm about her waist.

"What a lovely dress, darling," she said in her small, clear voice.
"Will you be an angel? India was unable to come tonight and assist
me. Will you receive with me?"



CHAPTER LIV


Safe in her room again, Scarlett fell on the bed, careless of her
moire dress, bustle and roses. For a time she could only lie still
and think of standing between Melanie and Ashley, greeting guests.
What a horror! She would face Sherman's army again rather than
repeat that performance! After a time, she rose from the bed and
nervously paced the floor, shedding garments as she walked.

Reaction from strain set in and she began to shake. Hairpins
slipped out of her fingers and tinkled to the floor and when she
tried to give her hair its customary hundred strokes, she banged
the back of the brush hurtingly against her temple. A dozen times
she tiptoed to the door to listen for noises downstairs but the
hall below lay like a black silent pit.

Rhett had sent her home alone in the carriage when the party was
over and she had thanked God for the reprieve. He had not come in
yet. Thank God, he had not come in. She could not face him
tonight, shamed, frightened, shaking. But where was he? Probably
at that creature's place. For the first time, Scarlett was glad
there was such a person as Belle Watling. Glad there was some
other place than this house to shelter Rhett until his glittering,
murderous mood had passed. That was wrong, being glad a husband
was at the house of a prostitute, but she could not help it. She
would be almost glad if he were dead, if it meant she would not
have to see him tonight.

Tomorrow--well, tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow she would think
of some excuse, some counter accusations, some way of putting Rhett
in the wrong. Tomorrow the memory of this hideous night would not
be driving her so fiercely that she shook. Tomorrow she would not
be so haunted by the memory of Ashley's face, his broken pride and
his shame--shame that she had caused, shame in which he had so
little part. Would he hate her now, her darling honorable Ashley,
because she had shamed him? Of course he would hate her now--now
that they had both been saved by the indignant squaring of
Melanie's thin shoulders and the love and outspoken trust which had
been in her voice as she crossed the glassy floor to slip her arm
through Scarlett's and face the curious, malicious, covertly
hostile crowd. How neatly Melanie had scotched the scandal,
keeping Scarlett at her side all through the dreadful evening!
People had been a bit cool, somewhat bewildered, but they had been
polite.

Oh, the ignominy of it all, to be sheltered behind Melanie's skirts
from those who hated her, who would have torn her to bits with
their whispers! To be sheltered by Melanie's blind trust, Melanie
of all people!

Scarlett shook as with a chill at the thought. She must have a
drink, a number of drinks before she could lie down and hope to
sleep. She threw a wrapper about her gown and went hastily out
into the dark hall, her backless slippers making a great clatter in
the stillness. She was halfway down the stairs before she looked
toward the closed door of the dining room and saw a narrow line of

As though he read her mind, Rhett's hand closed upon her arm in a

grip that would leave a bruise, the rough grip of a careless

stranger.

"I've never known an Irishman to be a coward. Where's your much-

vaunted courage?"

"Rhett, do please, let me go home and explain."

"You have eternity in which to explain and only one night to be a

martyr in the amphitheater. Get out, darling, and let me see the

lions eat you. Get out."

She went up the walk somehow, the arm she was holding as hard and

steady as granite, communicating to her some courage. By God, she

could face them and she would. What were they but a bunch of

howling, clawing cats who were jealous of her? She'd show them.

She didn't care what they thought. Only Melanie--only Melanie.

They were on the porch and Rhett was bowing right and left, his hat

in his hand, his voice cool and soft. The music stopped as they

entered and the crowd of people seemed to her confused mind to

surge up to her like the roar of the sea and then ebb away, with

lessening, ever-lessening sound. Was everyone going to cut her?

Well, God's nightgown, let them do it! Her chin went up and she

smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Before she could turn to speak to those nearest the door, someone

came through the press of people. There was an odd hush that

caught Scarlett's heart. Then through the lane came Melanie on

small feet that hurried, hurried to meet Scarlett at the door, to

speak to her before anyone else could speak. Her narrow shoulders

were squared and her small jaw set indignantly and, for all her

notice, she might have had no other guest but Scarlett. She went

to her side and slipped an arm about her waist.

"What a lovely dress, darling," she said in her small, clear voice.

"Will you be an angel? India was unable to come tonight and assist

me. Will you receive with me?"

CHAPTER LIV

Safe in her room again, Scarlett fell on the bed, careless of her

moire dress, bustle and roses. For a time she could only lie still

and think of standing between Melanie and Ashley, greeting guests.

What a horror! She would face Sherman's army again rather than

repeat that performance! After a time, she rose from the bed and

nervously paced the floor, shedding garments as she walked.

Reaction from strain set in and she began to shake. Hairpins

slipped out of her fingers and tinkled to the floor and when she

tried to give her hair its customary hundred strokes, she banged

the back of the brush hurtingly against her temple. A dozen times

she tiptoed to the door to listen for noises downstairs but the

hall below lay like a black silent pit.

Rhett had sent her home alone in the carriage when the party was

over and she had thanked God for the reprieve. He had not come in

yet. Thank God, he had not come in. She could not face him

tonight, shamed, frightened, shaking. But where was he? Probably

at that creature's place. For the first time, Scarlett was glad

there was such a person as Belle Watling. Glad there was some

other place than this house to shelter Rhett until his glittering,

murderous mood had passed. That was wrong, being glad a husband

was at the house of a prostitute, but she could not help it. She

would be almost glad if he were dead, if it meant she would not

have to see him tonight.

Tomorrow--well, tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow she would think

of some excuse, some counter accusations, some way of putting Rhett

in the wrong. Tomorrow the memory of this hideous night would not

be driving her so fiercely that she shook. Tomorrow she would not

be so haunted by the memory of Ashley's face, his broken pride and

his shame--shame that she had caused, shame in which he had so

little part. Would he hate her now, her darling honorable Ashley,

because she had shamed him? Of course he would hate her now--now

that they had both been saved by the indignant squaring of

Melanie's thin shoulders and the love and outspoken trust which had

been in her voice as she crossed the glassy floor to slip her arm

through Scarlett's and face the curious, malicious, covertly

hostile crowd. How neatly Melanie had scotched the scandal,

keeping Scarlett at her side all through the dreadful evening!

People had been a bit cool, somewhat bewildered, but they had been

polite.

Oh, the ignominy of it all, to be sheltered behind Melanie's skirts

from those who hated her, who would have torn her to bits with

their whispers! To be sheltered by Melanie's blind trust, Melanie

of all people!

Scarlett shook as with a chill at the thought. She must have a

drink, a number of drinks before she could lie down and hope to

sleep. She threw a wrapper about her gown and went hastily out

into the dark hall, her backless slippers making a great clatter in

the stillness. She was halfway down the stairs before she looked

toward the closed door of the dining room and saw a narrow line of