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But Rhett did not appear for dinner, nor was he at his place at the
supper table. The night passed, a long night during which she lay
awake until dawn, her ears strained to hear his key in the latch.
But he did not come. When the second day passed with no word from
him, she was frantic with disappointment and fear. She went by the
bank but he was not there. She went to the store and was very
sharp with everyone, for every time the door opened to admit a
customer she looked up with a flutter, hoping it was Rhett. She
went to the lumber yard and bullied Hugh until he hid himself
behind a pile of lumber. But Rhett did not seek her there.
She could not humble herself to ask friends if they had seen him.
She could not make inquiries among the servants for news of him.
But she felt they knew something she did not know. Negroes always
knew everything. Mammy was unusually silent those two days. She
watched Scarlett out of the corner of her eye and said nothing.
When the second night had passed Scarlett made up her mind to go to
the police. Perhaps he had had an accident, perhaps his horse had
thrown him and he was lying helpless in some ditch. Perhaps--oh,
horrible thought--perhaps he was dead.
The next morning when she had finished her breakfast and was in her
room putting on her bonnet, she heard swift feet on the stairs. As
she sank to the bed in weak thankfulness, Rhett entered the room.
He was freshly barbered, shaved and massaged and he was sober, but
his eyes were bloodshot and his face puffy from drink. He waved an
airy hand at her and said: "Oh, hello."
How could a man say "Oh, hello," after being gone without
explanation for two days? How could he be so nonchalant with the
memory of such a night as they had spent? He couldn't unless--
unless--the terrible thought leaped into her mind. Unless such
nights were the usual thing to him. For a moment she could not
speak and all the pretty gestures and smiles she had thought to use
upon him were forgotten. He did not even come to her to give her
his usual offhand kiss but stood looking at her, with a grin, a
smoking cigar in his hand.
"Where--where have you been?"
"Don't tell me you don't know! I thought surely the whole town
knew by now. Perhaps they all do, except you. You know the old
adage: 'The wife is always the last one to find out.'"
"What do you mean?"
"I thought that after the police called at Belle's night before
last--"
"Belle's--that--that woman! You have been with--"
"Of course. Where else would I be? I hope you haven't worried
about me."
"You went from me to--oh!"
"Come, come, Scarlett! Don't play the deceived wife. You must
have known about Belle long ago."
"You went to her from me, after--after--"
"Oh, that." He made a careless gesture. "I will forget my
manners. My apologies for my conduct at our last meeting. I was
very drunk, as you doubtless know, and quite swept off my feet by
your charms--need I enumerate them?"
Suddenly she wanted to cry, to lie down on the bed and sob
endlessly. He hadn't changed, nothing had changed, and she had
been a fool, a stupid, conceited, silly fool, thinking he loved
her. It had all been one of his repulsive drunken jests. He had
taken her and used her when he was drunk, just as he would use any
woman in Belle's house. And now he was back, insulting, sardonic,
out of reach. She swallowed her tears and rallied. He must never,
never know what she had thought. How he would laugh if he knew!
Well, he'd never know. She looked up quickly at him and caught
that old, puzzling, watchful glint in his eyes--keen, eager as
though he hung on her next words, hoping they would be--what was he
hoping? That she'd make a fool out of herself and bawl and give
him something to laugh about? Not she! Her slanting brows rushed
together in a cold frown.
"I had naturally suspected what your relations with that creature
were."
"Only suspected? Why didn't you ask me and satisfy your curiosity?
I'd have told you. I've been living with her ever since the day
you and Ashley Wilkes decided that we should have separate
bedrooms."
"You have the gall to stand there and boast to me, your wife, that--"
"Oh, spare me your moral indignation. You never gave a damn what I
did as long as I paid the bills. And you know I've been no angel
recently. And as for you being my wife--you haven't been much of a
wife since Bonnie came, have you? You've been a poor investment,
Scarlett. Belle's been a better one."
"Investment? You mean you gave her--?"