I've read a good deal about sieges, beleaguered cities and the

like, but I've never seen one. So I think I'll stay here and

watch. I won't get hurt because I'm a noncombatant and besides I

want the experience. Never pass up new experiences, Scarlett.

They enrich the mind."

"My mind's rich enough."

"Perhaps you know best about that, but I should say-- But that

would be ungallant. And perhaps, I'm staying here to rescue you

when the siege does come. I've never rescued a maiden in distress.

That would be a new experience, too."

She knew he was teasing her but she sensed a seriousness behind his

words. She tossed her head.

"I won't need you to rescue me. I can take care of myself, thank

you."

"Don't say that, Scarlett! Think of it, if you like, but never,

never say it to a man. That's the trouble with Yankee girls.

They'd be most charming if they weren't always telling you that

they can take care of themselves, thank you. Generally they are

telling the truth, God help them. And so men let them take care of

themselves."

"How you do run on," she said coldly, for there was no insult worse

than being likened to a Yankee girl. "I believe you're lying about

a siege. You know the Yankees will never get to Atlanta."

"I'll bet you they will be here within the month. I'll bet you a

box of bonbons against--" His dark eyes wandered to her lips.

"Against a kiss."

For a last brief moment, fear of a Yankee invasion clutched her

heart but at the word "kiss," she forgot about it. This was

familiar ground and far more interesting than military operations.

With difficulty she restrained a smile of glee. Since the day when

he gave her the green bonnet, Rhett had made no advances which

could in any way be construed as those of a lover. He could never

be inveigled into personal conversations, try though she might, but

now with no angling on her part, he was talking about kissing.

"I don't care for such personal conversation," she said coolly and

managed a frown. "Besides, I'd just as soon kiss a pig."

"There's no accounting for tastes and I've always heard the Irish

were partial to pigs--kept them under their beds, in fact. But,

Scarlett, you need kissing badly. That's what's wrong with you.

All your beaux have respected you too much, though God knows why,

or they have been too afraid of you to really do right by you. The

result is that you are unendurably uppity. You should be kissed

and by someone who knows how."

The conversation was not going the way she wanted it. It never did

when she was with him. Always, it was a duel in which she was

worsted.

"And I suppose you think you are the proper person?" she asked with

sarcasm, holding her temper in check with difficulty.

"Oh, yes, if I cared to take the trouble," he said carelessly.

"They say I kiss very well."

"Oh," she began, indignant at the slight to her charms. "Why,

you . . ." But her eyes fell in sudden confusion. He was smiling,

but in the dark depths of his eyes a tiny light flickered for a

brief moment, like a small raw flame.

"Of course, you've probably wondered why I never tried to follow up

that chaste peck I gave you, the day I brought you that bonnet--"

"I have never--"

"Then you aren't a nice girl, Scarlett, and I'm sorry to hear it.

All really nice girls wonder when men don't try to kiss them. They

know they shouldn't want them to and they know they must act

insulted if they do, but just the same, they wish the men would

try. . . . Well, my dear, take heart. Some day, I will kiss you

and you will like it. But not now, so I beg you not to be too

impatient."

She knew he was teasing but, as always, his teasing maddened her.

There was always too much truth in the things he said. Well, this

finished him. If ever, ever he should be so ill bred as to try to

take any liberties with her, she would show him.

"Will you kindly turn the horse around, Captain Butler? I wish to

go back to the hospital."

"Do you indeed, my ministering angel? Then lice and slops are

preferable to my conversation? Well, far be it from me to keep a

pair of willing hands from laboring for Our Glorious Cause." He

turned the horse's head and they started back toward Five Points.

"As to why I have made no further advances," he pursued blandly, as

though she had not signified that the conversation was at an end,

"I'm waiting for you to grow up a little more. You see, it

wouldn't be much fun for me to kiss you now and I'm quite selfish

about my pleasures. I never fancied kissing children."

He smothered a grin, as from the corner of his eye he saw her bosom

heave with silent wrath.

"And then, too," he continued softly, "I was waiting for the memory

of the estimable Ashley Wilkes to fade."

At the mention of Ashley's name, sudden pain went through her,

sudden hot tears stung her lids. Fade? The memory of Ashley would

never fade, not if he were dead a thousand years. She thought of

Ashley wounded, dying in a far-off Yankee prison, with no blankets

over him, with no one who loved him to hold his hand, and she was

filled with hate for the well-fed man who sat beside her, jeers

just beneath the surface of his drawling voice.

She was too angry to speak and they rode along in silence for some

while.

"I understand practically everything about you and Ashley, now,"

Rhett resumed. "I began with your inelegant scene at Twelve Oaks

and, since then, I've picked up many things by keeping my eyes

open. What things? Oh, that you still cherish a romantic

schoolgirl passion for him which he reciprocates as well as his

honorable nature will permit him. And that Mrs. Wilkes knows

nothing and that, between the two of you, you've done her a pretty

trick. I understand practically everything, except one thing that

piques my curiosity. Did the honorable Ashley ever jeopardize his