Vitally interested every one else.

Rightly interpreting her silence, Gerald patted her arm and said

triumphantly: "There now, Scarlett! You admit 'tis true. What

would you be doing with a husband like Ashley? 'Tis moonstruck

they all are, all the Wilkes." And then, in a wheedling tone:

"When I was mentioning the Tarletons the while ago, I wasn't

pushing them. They're fine lads, but if it's Cade Calvert you're

setting your cap after, why, 'tis the same with me. The Calverts

are good folk, all of them, for all the old man marrying a Yankee.

And when I'm gone--Whist, darlin', listen to me! I'll leave Tara

to you and Cade--"

"I wouldn't have Cade on a silver tray," cried Scarlett in fury.

"And I wish you'd quit pushing him at me! I don't want Tara or

any old plantation. Plantations don't amount to anything when--"

She was going to say "when you haven't the man you want," but

Gerald, incensed by the cavalier way in which she treated his

proffered gift, the thing which, next to Ellen, he loved best in

the whole world uttered a roar.

"Do you stand there, Scarlett O'Hara, and tell me that Tara--that

land--doesn't amount to anything?"

Scarlett nodded obstinately. Her heart was too sore to care

whether or not she put her father in a temper.

"Land is the only thing in the world that amounts to anything," he

shouted, his thick, short arms making wide gestures of indignation,

"for 'tis the only thing in this world that lasts, and don't you be

forgetting it! 'Tis the only thing worth working for, worth

fighting for--worth dying for."

"Oh, Pa," she said disgustedly, "you talk like an Irishman!"

"Have I ever been ashamed of it? No, 'tis proud I am. And don't

be forgetting that you are half Irish, Miss! And to anyone with a

drop of Irish blood in them the land they live on is like their

mother. 'Tis ashamed of you I am this minute. I offer you the

most beautiful land in the world--saving County Meath in the Old

Country--and what do you do? You sniff!"

Gerald had begun to work himself up into a pleasurable shouting

rage when something in Scarlett's woebegone face stopped him.

"But there, you're young. 'Twill come to you, this love of land.

There's no getting away from it, if you're Irish. You're just a

child and bothered about your beaux. When you're older, you'll be

seeing how 'tis. . . . Now, do you be making up your mind about

Cade or the twins or one of Evan Munroe's young bucks, and see how

fine I turn you out!"

"Oh, Pa!"

By this time, Gerald was thoroughly tired of the conversation and

thoroughly annoyed that the problem should be upon his shoulders.

He felt aggrieved, moreover, that Scarlett should still look

desolate after being offered the best of the County boys and Tara,

too. Gerald liked his gifts to be received with clapping of hands

and kisses.

"Now, none of your pouts, Miss. It doesn't matter who you marry,

as long as he thinks like you and is a gentleman and a Southerner

and prideful. For a woman, love comes after marriage."

"Oh, Pa, that's such an Old Country notion!"

"And a good notion it is! All this American business of running

around marrying for love, like servants, like Yankees! The best

marriages are when the parents choose for the girl. For how can a

silly piece like yourself tell a good man from a scoundrel? Now,

look at the Wilkes. What's kept them prideful and strong all

these generations? Why, marrying the likes of themselves,

marrying the cousins their family always expects them to marry."

"Oh," cried Scarlett, fresh pain striking her as Gerald's words

brought home the terrible inevitability of the truth.

Gerald looked at her bowed head and shuffled his feet uneasily.

"It's not crying you are?" he questioned, fumbling clumsily at her

chin, trying to turn her face upward, his own face furrowed with

pity.

"No," she cried vehemently, jerking away.

"It's lying you are, and I'm proud of it. I'm glad there's pride

in you, Puss. And I want to see pride in you tomorrow at the

barbecue. I'll not be having the County gossiping and laughing at

you for mooning your heart out about a man who never gave you a

thought beyond friendship."

"He did give me a thought," thought Scarlett, sorrowfully in her

heart. "Oh, a lot of thoughts! I know he did. I could tell. If

I'd just had a little longer, I know I could have made him say--

Oh, if it only wasn't that the Wilkes always feel that they have

to marry their cousins!"

Gerald took her arm and passed it through his.

"We'll be going in to supper now, and all this is between us.

I'll not be worrying your mother with this--nor do you do it

either. Blow your nose, daughter."

Scarlett blew her nose on her torn handkerchief, and they started

up the dark drive arm in arm, the horse following slowly. Near

the house, Scarlett was at the point of speaking again when she

saw her mother in the dim shadows of the porch. She had on her

bonnet, shawl and mittens, and behind her was Mammy, her face like

a thundercloud, holding in her hand the black leather bag in which

Ellen O'Hara always carried the bandages and medicines she used in

doctoring the slaves. Mammy's lips were large and pendulous and,

when indignant, she could push out her lower one to twice its

normal length. It was pushed out now, and Scarlett knew that

Mammy was seething over something of which she did not approve.

"Mr. O'Hara," called Ellen as she saw the two coming up the

driveway--Ellen belonged to a generation that was formal even

after seventeen years of wedlock and the bearing of six children--

"Mr. O'Hara, there is illness at the Slattery house. Emmie's baby

has been born and is dying and must be baptized. I am going there

with Mammy to see what I can do."

Her voice was raised questioningly, as though she hung on Gerald's

assent to her plan, a mere formality but one dear to the heart of

Gerald.

"In the name of God!" blustered Gerald. "Why should those white

trash take you away just at your supper hour and just when I'm

wanting to tell you about the war talk that's going on in Atlanta!

Go, Mrs. O'Hara. You'd not rest easy on your pillow the night if

there was trouble abroad and you not there to help."

"She doan never git no res' on her piller fer hoppin' up at night

time nursin' niggers an po' w'ite trash dat could ten' to

deyseff," grumbled Mammy in a monotone as she went down the stairs

toward the carriage which was waiting in the side drive.

"Take my place at the table, dear," said Ellen, patting Scarlett's

cheek softly with a mittened hand.