In your mill."

"Well, what of it?" questioned Scarlett, shortly.

"When I lent you the money to buy that mill I made one stipulation,

to which you agreed, and that was that it should not go to the

support of Ashley Wilkes."

"You are being very offensive. I've paid you back your money and I

own the mill and what I do with it is my own business."

"Would you mind telling me how you made the money to pay back my

loan?"

"I made it selling lumber, of course."

"You made it with the money I lent you to give you your start.

That's what you mean. My money is being used to support Ashley.

You are a woman quite without honor and if you hadn't repaid my

loan, I'd take great pleasure in calling it in now and selling you

out at public auction if you couldn't pay."

He spoke lightly but there was anger flickering in his eyes.

Scarlett hastily carried the warfare into the enemy's territory.

"Why do you hate Ashley so much? I believe you're jealous of him."

After she had spoken she could have bitten her tongue, for he threw

back his head and laughed until she went red with mortification.

"Add conceit to dishonor," he said. "You'll never get over being

the belle of the County, will you? You'll always think you're the

cutest little trick in shoe leather and that every man you meet is

expiring for love of you."

"I don't either!" she cried hotly. "But I just can't see why you

hate Ashley so much and that's the only explanation I can think

of."

"Well, think something else, pretty charmer, for that's the wrong

explanation. And as for hating Ashley--I don't hate him any more

than I like him. In fact, my only emotion toward him and his kind

Is pity."

"Pity?"

"Yes, and a little contempt. Now, swell up like a gobbler and tell

me that he is worth a thousand blackguards like me and that I

shouldn't dare to be so presumptuous as to feel either pity or

contempt for him. And when you have finished swelling, I'll tell

you what I mean, if you're interested."

"Well, I'm not."

"I shall tell you, just the same, for I can't bear for you to go on

nursing your pleasant delusion of my jealousy. I pity him because

he ought to be dead and he isn't. And I have a contempt for him

because he doesn't know what to do with himself now that his world

Is gone."

There was something familiar in the idea he expressed. She had a

confused memory of having heard similar words but she could not

remember when and where. She did not think very hard about it for

her anger was hot.

"If you had your way all the decent men in the South would be

dead!"

"And if they had their way, I think Ashley's kind would prefer to

be dead. Dead with neat stones above them, saying: 'Here lies a

soldier of the Confederacy, dead for the Southland' or 'Dulce et

decorum est--' or any of the other popular epitaphs."

"I don't see why!"

"You never see anything that isn't written in letters a foot high

and then shoved under your nose, do you? If they were dead, their

troubles would be over, there'd be no problems to face, problems

that have no solutions. Moreover, their families would be proud of

them through countless generations. And I've heard the dead are

happy. Do you suppose Ashley Wilkes is happy?"

"Why, of course--" she began and then she remembered the look in

Ashley's eyes recently and stopped.

"Is he happy or Hugh Elsing or Dr. Meade? Any more than my father

and your father were happy?"

"Well, perhaps not as happy as they might be, because they've all

lost their money."

He laughed.

"It isn't losing their money, my pet. I tell you it's losing their

world--the world they were raised in. They're like fish out of

water or cats with wings. They were raised to be certain persons,

to do certain things, to occupy certain niches. And those persons

and things and niches disappeared forever when General Lee arrived

at Appomattox. Oh, Scarlett, don't look so stupid! What is there

for Ashley Wilkes to do, now that his home is gone and his

plantation taken up for taxes and fine gentlemen are going twenty

for a penny? Can he work with his head or his hands? I'll bet

you've lost money hand over fist since he took over that mill."

"I have not!"

"How nice. May I look over your books some Sunday evening when you

are at leisure?"

"You can go to the devil and not at your leisure. You can go now,

for all I care."

"My pet, I've been to the devil and he's a very dull fellow. I

won't go there again, even for you. . . . You took my money when

you needed it desperately and you used it. We had an agreement as

to how it should be used and you have broken that agreement. Just

remember, my precious little cheat, the time will come when you

will want to borrow more money from me. You'll want me to bank

you, at some incredibly low interest, so you can buy more mills and

more mules and build more saloons. And you can whistle for the

money."

"When I need money I'll borrow it from the bank, thank you," she

said coldly, but her breast was heaving with rage.

"Will you? Try to do it. I own plenty of stock in the bank."

"You do?"

"Yes, I am interested in some honest enterprises."

"There are other banks--"

"Plenty of them. And if I can manage it, you'll play hell getting

a cent from any of them. You can go to the Carpetbag usurers if

you want money."

"I'll go to them with pleasure."

"You'll go but with little pleasure when you learn their rates of