Intending to stay there forever.

When Dr. Meade told her she was pregnant, she was astounded, for

she had been expecting a diagnosis of biliousness and over-wrought

nerves. Then her mind fled back to that wild night and her face

went crimson at the memory. So a child was coming from those

moments of high rapture--even if the memory of the rapture was

dimmed by what followed. And for the first time she was glad that

she was going to have a child. If it were only a boy! A fine boy,

not a spiritless little creature like Wade. How she would care for

him! Now that she had the leisure to devote to a baby and the

money to smooth his path, how happy she would be! She had an

impulse to write to Rhett in care of his mother in Charleston and

tell him. Good Heavens, he must come home now! Suppose he stayed

away till after the baby was born! She could never explain that!

But if she wrote him he'd think she wanted him to come home and he

would be amused. And he mustn't ever think she wanted him or

needed him.

She was very glad she had stifled this impulse when her first news

of Rhett came in a letter from Aunt Pauline in Charleston where, it

seemed, Rhett was visiting his mother. What a relief to know he

was still in the United States, even if Aunt Pauline's letter was

infuriating. Rhett had brought Bonnie to see her and Aunt Eulalie

and the letter was full of praise.

"Such a little beauty! When she grows up she will certainly be a

belle. But I suppose you know that any man who courts her will

have a tussle with Captain Butler, for I never saw such a devoted

father. Now, my dear, I wish to confess something. Until I met

Captain Butler, I felt that your marriage with him had been a

dreadful mesalliance for, of course, no one in Charleston hears

anything good about him and everyone is so sorry for his family.

In fact, Eulalie and I were uncertain as to whether or not we

should receive him--but, after all, the dear child is our great-

niece. When he came, we were pleasantly surprised, most

pleasantly, and realized how un-Christian it is to credit idle

gossip. For he is most charming. Quite handsome, too, we thought,

and so very grave and courteous. And so devoted to you and the

child.

"And now, my dear, I must write you of something that has come to

our ears--something Eulalie and I were loath to believe at first.

We had heard, of course, that you sometimes did help out at the

store that Mr. Kennedy had left you. We had heard rumors but, of

course, we denied them. We realized that in those first dreadful

days after the war, it was perhaps necessary, conditions being what

they were. But there is no necessity now for such conduct on your

part, as I know Captain Butler is in quite comfortable circumstances

and is, moreover, fully capable of managing for you any business and

property you may own. We had to know the truth of these rumors and

were forced to ask Captain Butler point-blank questions which was

most distressing to all of us.

"With reluctance he told us that you spent your mornings at the

store and would permit no one else to do the bookkeeping. He also

admitted that you had some interest in a mill or mills (we did not

press him on this, being most upset at this information which was

news to us) that necessitated your riding about alone, or attended

by a ruffian who, Captain Butler assures us, is a murderer. We

could see how this wrung his heart and think he must be a most

indulgent--in fact, a far too indulgent husband. Scarlett, this

must stop. Your mother is not here to command you and I must do it

in her place. Think how your little children will feel when they

grow older and realize that you were in trade! How mortified they

will be to know that you exposed yourself to the insults of rude

men and the dangers of careless gossip in attending to mills. Such

unwomanly--"

Scarlett flung down the letter unfinished, with an oath. She could

just see Aunt Pauline and Aunt Eulalie sitting in judgment on her

in the crumbling house on the Battery with little between them and

starvation except what she, Scarlett, sent them every month.

Unwomanly? By God, if she hadn't been unwomanly Aunt Pauline and

Aunt Eulalie probably wouldn't have a roof over their heads this

very moment. And damn Rhett for telling them about the store and

the bookkeeping and the mills! Reluctant, was he? She knew very

well the joy he took in palming himself off on the old ladies as

grave, courteous and charming, the devoted husband and father.

How he must have loved harrowing them with descriptions of her

activities with the store, the mills, the saloon. What a devil he

was. Why did such perverse things give him such pleasure?

But soon, even this rage passed into apathy. So much of the keen

zest had gone out of life recently. If only she could recapture

the thrill and the glow of Ashley--if only Rhett would come home

and make her laugh.

They were home again, without warning. The first intimation of

their return was the sound of luggage being thumped on the front-

hall floor and Bonnie's voice crying, "Mother!"

Scarlett hurried from her room to the top of the stairs and saw her

daughter stretching her short plump legs in an effort to climb the

steps. A resigned striped kitten was clutched to her breast.

"Gran'ma gave him to me," she cried excitedly, holding the kitten

out by the scruff.

Scarlett swept her up into her arms and kissed her, thankful that

the child's presence spared her her first meeting alone with Rhett.

Looking over Bonnie's head, she saw him in the hall below, paying

the cab driver. He looked up, saw her and swept off his hat in a

wide gesture, bowing as he did. When she met his dark eyes, her

heart leaped. No matter what he was, no matter what he had done,

he was home and she was glad.

"Where's Mammy?" asked Bonnie, wriggling in Scarlett's grasp and

she reluctantly set the child on her feet.