Voice shaking.

"I'll do nothing of the kind," he returned calmly. "It'll be dark

before you get home and there's a new colony of darkies living in

tents and shanties near the next spring, mean niggers I've been

told, and I see no reason why you should give the impulsive Ku Klux

a cause for putting on their nightshirts and riding abroad this

evening."

"Get out!" she cried, tugging at the reins and suddenly nausea

overwhelmed her. He stopped the horse quickly, passed her two

clean handkerchiefs and held her head over the side of the buggy

with some skill. The afternoon sun, slanting low through the newly

leaved trees, spun sickeningly for a few moments in a swirl of gold

and green. When the spell had passed, she put her head in her

hands and cried from sheer mortification. Not only had she vomited

before a man--in itself as horrible a contretemps as could overtake

a woman--but by doing so, the humiliating fact of her pregnancy

must now be evident. She felt that she could never look him in the

face again. To have this happen with him, of all people, with

Rhett who had no respect for women! She cried, expecting some

coarse and jocular remark from him which she would never be able to

forget.

"Don't be a fool," he said quietly. "And you are a fool, if you

are crying for shame. Come, Scarlett, don't be a child. Surely

you must know that, not being blind, I knew you were pregnant."

She said "Oh" in a stunned voice and tightened her fingers over her

crimson face. The word itself horrified her. Frank always

referred to her pregnancy embarrassedly as "your condition," Gerald

had been wont to say delicately "in the family way," when he had to

mention such matters, and ladies genteelly referred to pregnancy as

being "in a fix."

"You are a child if you thought I didn't know, for all your

smothering yourself under that hot lap robe. Of course, I knew.

Why else do you think I've been--"

He stopped suddenly and a silence fell between them. He picked up

the reins and clucked to the horse. He went on talking quietly and

as his drawl fell pleasantly on her ears, some of the color faded

from her down-tucked face.

"I didn't think you could be so shocked, Scarlett. I thought you

were a sensible person and I'm disappointed. Can it be possible

that modesty still lingers in your breast? I'm afraid I'm not a

gentleman to have mentioned the matter. And I know I'm not a

gentleman, in view of the fact that pregnant women do not embarrass

me as they should. I find it possible to treat them as normal

creatures and not look at the ground or the sky or anywhere else in

the universe except their waist lines--and then cast at them those

furtive glances I've always thought the height of indecency. Why

should I? It's a perfectly normal state. The Europeans are far

more sensible than we are. They compliment expectant mothers upon

their expectations. While I wouldn't advise going that far, still

It's more sensible than our way of trying to ignore it. It's a

normal state and women should be proud of it, instead of hiding

behind closed doors as if they'd committed a crime."

"Proud!" she cried in a strangled voice. "Proud--ugh!"

"Aren't you proud to be having a child?"

"Oh dear God, no! I--I hate babies!"

"You mean--Frank's baby."

"No--anybody's baby."

For a moment she went sick again at this new error of speech, but

his voice went on as easily as though he had not marked it.

"Then we're different. I like babies."

"You like them?" she cried, looking up, so startled at the

statement that she forgot her embarrassment. "What a liar you

are!"

"I like babies and I like little children, till they begin to grow

up and acquire adult habits of thought and adult abilities to lie

and cheat and be dirty. That can't be news to you. You know I

like Wade Hampton a lot, for all that he isn't the boy he ought to

be."

That was true, thought Scarlett, suddenly marveling. He did seem

to enjoy playing with Wade and often brought him presents.

"Now that we've brought this dreadful subject into the light and

you admit that you expect a baby some time in the not too distant

future, I'll say something I've been wanting to say for weeks--two

things. The first is that it's dangerous for you to drive alone.

You know it. You've been told it often enough. If you don't care

personally whether or not you are raped, you might consider the

consequences. Because of your obstinacy, you may get yourself into

a situation where your gallant fellow townsmen will be forced to

avenge you by stringing up a few darkies. And that will bring the

Yankees down on them and someone will probably get hanged. Has it

ever occurred to you that perhaps one of the reasons the ladies do

not like you is that your conduct may cause the neck-stretching of

their sons and husbands? And furthermore, if the Ku Klux handles

many more negroes, the Yankees are going to tighten up on Atlanta

in a way that will make Sherman's conduct look angelic. I know

what I'm talking about, for I'm hand in glove with the Yankees.

Shameful to state, they treat me as one of them and I hear them

talk openly. They mean to stamp out the Ku Klux if it means

burning the whole town again and hanging every male over ten. That

would hurt you, Scarlett. You might lose money. And there's no

telling where a prairie fire will stop, once it gets started.

Confiscation of property, higher taxes, fines for suspected women--

I've heard them all suggested. The Ku Klux--"

"Do you know any Ku Klux? Is Tommy Wellburn or Hugh or--"

He shrugged impatiently.

"How should I know? I'm a renegade, a turncoat, a Scallawag.

Would I be likely to know? But I do know men who are suspected by

the Yankees and one false move from them and they are as good as

hanged. While I know you would have no regrets at getting your

neighbors on the gallows, I do believe you'd regret losing your

mills. I see by the stubborn look on your face that you do not

believe me and my words are falling on stony ground. So all I can

say is, keep that pistol of yours handy--and when I'm in town, I'll

try to be on hand to drive you."

"Rhett, do you really--is it to protect me that you--"

"Yes, my dear, it is my much advertised chivalry that makes me

protect you." The mocking light began to dance in his black eyes

and all signs of earnestness fled from his face. "And why?

Because of my deep love for you, Mrs. Kennedy. Yes, I have

silently hungered and thirsted for you and worshipped you from

afar; but being an honorable man, like Mr. Ashley Wilkes, I have

concealed it from you. You are, alas, Frank's wife and honor has

forbidden my telling this to you. But even as Mr. Wilkes' honor

cracks occasionally, so mine is cracking now and I reveal my secret

passion and my--"

"Oh, for God's sake, hush!" interrupted Scarlett, annoyed as usual

when he made her look like a conceited fool, and not caring to have

Ashley and his honor become the subject of further conversation.

"What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?"

"What! You change the subject when I am baring a loving but

lacerated heart? Well, the other thing is this." The mocking

light died out of his eyes again and his face was dark and quiet.

"I want you to do something about this horse. He's stubborn and

he's got a mouth as tough as iron. Tires you to drive him, doesn't

it? Well, if he chose to bolt, you couldn't possibly stop him.

And if you turned over in a ditch, it might kill your baby and you

too. You ought to get the heaviest curb bit you can, or else let

me swap him for a gentle horse with a more sensitive mouth."

She looked up into his blank, smooth face and suddenly her

irritation fell away, even as her embarrassment had disappeared

after the conversation about her pregnancy. He had been kind, a

few moments before, to put her at her ease when she was wishing

that she were dead. And he was being kinder now and very

thoughtful about the horse. She felt a rush of gratitude to him

and she wondered why he could not always be this way.

"The horse is hard to drive," she agreed meekly. "Sometimes my

arms ache all night from tugging at him. You do what you think

best about him, Rhett."

His eyes sparkled wickedly.

"That sounds very sweet and feminine, Mrs. Kennedy. Not in your

usual masterful vein at all. Well, it only takes proper handling

to make a clinging vine out of you."

She scowled and her temper came back.

"You will get out of this buggy this time, or I will hit you with

the whip. I don't know why I put up with you--why I try to be nice

to you. You have no manners. You have no morals. You are nothing

but a-- Well, get out. I mean it."

But when he had climbed down and untied his horse from the back of

the buggy and stood in the twilight road, grinning tantalizingly at

her, she could not smother her own grin as she drove off.

Yes, he was coarse, he was tricky, he was unsafe to have dealings

with, and you never could tell when the dull weapon you put into

his hands in an unguarded moment might turn into the keenest of

blades. But, after all, he was as stimulating as--well, as a

surreptitious glass of brandy!

During these months Scarlett had learned the use of brandy. When

she came home in the late afternoons, damp from the rain, cramped

and aching from long hours in the buggy, nothing sustained her

except the thought of the bottle hidden in her top bureau drawer,

locked against Mammy's prying eyes. Dr. Meade had not thought to

warn her that a woman in her condition should not drink, for it

never occurred to him that a decent woman would drink anything

stronger than scuppernong wine. Except, of course, a glass of

champagne at a wedding or a hot toddy when confined to bed with a

hard cold. Of course, there were unfortunate women who drank, to

the eternal disgrace of their families, just as there were women

who were insane or divorced or who believed, with Miss Susan B.

Anthony, that women should have the vote. But as much as the

doctor disapproved of Scarlett, he never suspected her of drinking.

Scarlett had found that a drink of neat brandy before supper helped