Gone with the Wind (133 page)

“I—I shall never marry again.”

“Oh, yes, you will. You were born to be married. Why not me?”

“But Rhett, I—I don't love you.”

“That should be no drawback. I don't recall that love was prominent in your other two ventures.”

“Oh, how can you? You know I was fond of Frank!”

He said nothing.

“I was! I was!”

“Well, we won't argue that. Will you think over my proposition while I'm gone?”

“Rhett, I don't like for things to drag on. I'd rather tell you now. I'm going home to Tara soon and India Wilkes will stay with Aunt Pittypat. I want to go home for a long spell and—I—I don't ever want to get married again.”

“Nonsense. Why?”

“Oh, well—never mind why. I just don't like being married.”

“But, my poor child, you've never really been married. How can you know? I'll admit you've had bad luck—once
for spite and once for money. Did you ever think of marrying—just for the fun of it?”

“Fun! Don't talk like a fool. There's no fun being married.”

“No? Why not?”

A measure of calm had returned and with it all the natural bluntness which brandy brought to the surface.

“It's fun for men—though God knows why. I never could understand it. But all a woman gets out of it is something to eat and a lot of work and having to put up with a man's foolishness—and a baby every year.”

He laughed so loudly that the sound echoed in the stillness and Scarlett heard the kitchen door open.

“Hush! Mammy has ears like a lynx and it isn't decent to laugh so soon after—hush laughing. You know it's true. Fun! Fiddle-dee-dee!”

“I said you'd had bad luck and what you've just said proves it. You've been married to a boy and to an old man. And into the bargain I'll bet your mother told you that women must bear ‘these things' because of the compensating joys of motherhood. Well, that's all wrong. Why not try marrying a fine young man who has a bad reputation and a way with women? It'll be fun.”

“You are coarse and conceited and I think this conversation has gone far enough. It's—it's quite vulgar.”

“And quite enjoyable too, isn't it? I'll wager you never discussed the marital relation with a man before, even Charles or Frank.”

She scowled at him. Rhett knew too much. She wondered where he had learned all he knew about women. It wasn't decent.

“Don't frown. Name the day, Scarlett. I'm not urging instant matrimony because of your reputation. We'll wait
the decent interval. By the way, just how long is a ‘decent interval'?”

“I haven't said I'd marry you. It isn't decent to even talk of such things at such a time.”

“I've told you why I'm talking of them. I'm going away tomorrow and I'm too ardent a lover to restrain my passion any longer. But perhaps I've been too precipitate in my wooing.”

With a suddenness that startled her, he slid off the sofa onto his knees and with one hand placed delicately over his heart, he recited rapidly:

“Forgive me for startling you with the impetuosity of my sentiments, my dear Scarlett—I mean, my dear Mrs. Kennedy. It cannot have escaped your notice that for some time past the friendship I have had in my heart for you has ripened into a deeper feeling, a feeling more beautiful, more pure, more sacred. Dare I name it for you? Ah! It is love which makes me so bold!”

“Do get up,” she entreated. “You look such a fool and suppose Mammy should come in and see you?”

“She would be stunned and incredulous at the first signs of my gentility,” said Rhett, arising lightly. “Come, Scarlett, you are no child, no schoolgirl to put me off with foolish excuses about decency and so forth. Say you'll marry me when I come back or, before God, I won't go. I'll stay around here and play a guitar under your window every night and sing at the top of my voice and compromise you, so you'll have to marry me to save your reputation.”

“Rhett, do be sensible. I don't want to marry anybody.”

“No? You aren't telling me the real reason. It can't be girlish timidity. What is it?”

Suddenly she thought of Ashley, saw him as vividly as
though he stood beside her, sunny haired, drowsy eyed, full of dignity, so utterly different from Rhett. He was the real reason she did not want to marry again, although she had no objections to Rhett and at times was genuinely fond of him. She belonged to Ashley, forever and ever. She had never belonged to Charles or Frank, could never really belong to Rhett. Every part of her, almost everything she had ever done, striven after, attained, belonged to Ashley, were done because she loved him. Ashley and Tara, she belonged to them. The smiles, the laughter, the kisses she had given Charles and Frank were Ashley's, even though he had never claimed them, would never claim them. Somewhere deep in her was the desire to keep herself for him, although she knew he would never take her.

She did not know that her face had changed, that reverie had brought a softness to her face which Rhett had never seen before. He looked at the slanting green eyes, wide and misty, and the tender curve of her lips and for a moment his breath stopped. Then his mouth went down violently at one corner and he swore with passionate impatience.

“Scarlett O'Hara, you're a fool!”

Before she could withdraw her mind from its far places, his arms were around her, as sure and hard as on the dark road to Tara, so long ago. She felt again the rush of helplessness, the sinking yielding, the surging tide of warmth that left her limp. And the quiet face of Ashley Wilkes was blurred and drowned to nothingness. He bent back her head across his arm and kissed her, softly at first, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that made her cling to him as the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world. His insistent mouth was parting her shaking
lips, sending wild tremors along her nerves, evoking from her sensations she had never known she was capable of feeling. And before a swimming giddiness spun her round and round, she knew that she was kissing him back.

“Stop—please, I'm faint!” she whispered, trying to turn her head weakly from him. He pressed her head back hard against his shoulder and she had a dizzy glimpse of his face. His eyes were wide and blazing queerly and the tremor in his arms frightened her.

“I want to make you faint. I will make you faint. You've had this coming to you for years. None of the fools you've known have kissed you like this—have they? Your precious Charles or Frank or your stupid Ashley—”

“Please—”

“I said your stupid Ashley. Gentlemen all—what do they know about women? What did they know about you? I know you.”

His mouth was on hers again and she surrendered without a struggle, too weak even to turn her head, without even the desire to turn it, her heart shaking her with its poundings, fear of his strength and her nerveless weakness sweeping her. What was he going to do? She would faint if he did not stop. If he would only stop—if he would never stop.

“Say Yes!” His mouth was poised above hers and his eyes were so close that they seemed enormous, filling the world. “Say Yes, damn you, or—”

She whispered “Yes” before she even thought. It was almost as if he had willed the word and she had spoken it without her own volition. But even as she spoke it, a sudden calm fell on her spirit, her head began to stop spinning and even the giddiness of the brandy was lessened.
She had promised to marry him when she had had no intention of promising. She hardly knew how it had all come about but she was not sorry. It now seemed very natural that she had said Yes—almost as if by divine intervention, a hand stronger than hers was about her affairs, settling her problems for her.

He drew a quick breath as she spoke and bent as if to kiss her again and her eyes closed and her head fell back. But he drew back and she was faintly disappointed. It made her feel so strange to be kissed like this and yet there was something exciting about it.

He sat very still for a while holding her head against his shoulder and, as if by effort, the trembling of his arms ceased. He moved away from her a little and looked down at her. She opened her eyes and saw that the frightening glow had gone from his face. But somehow she could not meet his gaze and she dropped her eyes in a rush of tingling confusion.

When he spoke his voice was very calm.

“You meant it? You don't want to take it back?”

“No.”

“It's not just because I've—what is the phrase?—‘swept you off your feet' by my—er—ardor?”

She could not answer for she did not know what to say, nor could she meet his eyes. He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face.

“I told you once that I could stand anything from you except a lie. And now I want the truth. Just why did you say Yes?”

Still the words would not come, but, a measure of poise returning, she kept her eyes demurely down and tucked the corners of her mouth into a little smile.

“Look at me. Is it my money?”

“Why, Rhett! What a question!”

“Look up and don't try to sweet talk me. I'm not Charles or Frank or any of the County boys to be taken in by your fluttering lids. Is it my money?”

“Well—yes, a part.”

“A part?”

He did not seem annoyed. He drew a swift breath and with an effort wiped from his eyes the eagerness her words had brought, an eagerness which she was too confused to see.

“Well,” she floundered helplessly, “money does help, you know, Rhett, and God knows Frank didn't leave any too much. But then—well, Rhett, we do get on, you know. And you are the only man I ever saw who could stand the truth from a woman, and it would be nice having a husband who didn't think me a silly fool and expect me to tell lies—and—well, I am fond of you.”

“Fond of me?”

“Well,” she said fretfully, “if I said I was madly in love with you, I'd be lying and what's more, you'd know it.”

“Sometimes I think you carry your truth telling too far, my pet. Don't you think, even if it was a lie, that it would be appropriate for you to say ‘I love you, Rhett,' even if you didn't mean it?”

What was he driving at, she wondered, becoming more confused. He looked so queer, eager, hurt, mocking. He took his hands from her and shoved them deep in his trouser pockets and she saw him ball his fists.

“If it costs me a husband, I'll tell the truth,” she thought grimly, her blood up as always when he baited her.

“Rhett, it would be a lie, and why should we go through all that foolishness? I'm fond of you, like I said. You know how it is. You told me once that you didn't
love me but that we had a lot in common. Both rascals, was the way you—”

“Oh, God!” he whispered rapidly, turning his head away. “To be taken in my own trap!”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” and he looked at her and laughed, but it was not a pleasant laugh. “Name the day, my dear,” and he laughed again and bent and kissed her hands. She was relieved to see his mood pass and good humor apparently return, so she smiled too.

He played with her hand for a moment and grinned up at her.

“Did you ever in your novel reading come across the old situation of the disinterested wife falling in love with her own husband?”

“You know I don't read novels,” she said and, trying to equal his jesting mood, went on: “Besides, you once said it was the height of bad form for husbands and wives to love each other.”

“I once said too God damn many things,” he retorted abruptly and rose to his feet.

“Don't swear.”

“You'll have to get used to it and learn to swear too. You'll have to get used to all my bad habits. That'll be part of the price of being—fond of me and getting your pretty paws on my money.”

“Well, don't fly off the handle so, because I didn't lie and make you feel conceited. You aren't in love with me, are you? Why should I be in love with you?”

“No, my dear, I'm not in love with you, no more than you are with me, and if I were, you would be the last person I'd ever tell. God help the man who ever really loves you. You'd break his heart, my darling, cruel, destructive
little cat who is so careless and confident she doesn't even trouble to sheathe her claws.”

He jerked her to her feet and kissed her again, but this time his lips were different for he seemed not to care if he hurt her—seemed to want to hurt her, to insult her. His lips slid down to her throat and finally he pressed them against the taffeta over her breast, so hard and so long that his breath burnt to her skin. Her hands struggled up, pushing him away in outraged modesty.

“You mustn't! How dare you!”

“Your heart's going like a rabbit's,” he said mockingly. “All too fast for mere fondness I would think, if I were conceited. Smooth your ruffled feathers. You are just putting on these virginal airs. Tell me what I shall bring you from England. A ring? What kind would you like?”

She wavered momentarily between interest in his last words and a feminine desire to prolong the scene with anger and indignation.

“Oh—a diamond ring—and Rhett, do buy a great big one.”

“So you can flaunt it before your poverty-stricken friends and say ‘See what I caught!' Very well, you shall have a big one, one so big that your less-fortunate friends can comfort themselves by whispering that it's really vulgar to wear such large stones.”

He abruptly started off across the room and she followed him, bewildered, to the closed doors.

“What is the matter? Where are you going?”

“To my rooms to finish packing.”

“Oh, but—”

“But, what?”

“Nothing. I hope you have a nice trip.”

“Thank you.”

He opened the door and walked into the hall. Scarlett trailed after him, somewhat at a loss, a trifle disappointed as at an unexpected anticlimax. He slipped on his coat and picked up his gloves and hat.