It in this town as long as you live. And while I may endure a

trollop for a wife, I won't endure a coward. You are going

tonight, even if everyone, from Alex Stephens down, cuts you and

Mrs. Wilkes asks us to leave the house."

"Rhett, let me explain."

"I don't want to hear. There isn't time. Get on your clothes."

"They misunderstood--India and Mrs. Elsing and Archie. And they

hate me so. India hates me so much that she'd even tell lies about

her own brother to make me appear in a bad light. If you'll only

let me explain--"

Oh, Mother of God, she thought in agony, suppose he says: "Pray do

explain!" What can I say? How can I explain?

"They'll have told everybody lies. I can't go tonight."

"You will go," he said, "if I have to drag you by the neck and

plant my boot on your ever so charming bottom every step of the

way."

There was a cold glitter in his eyes as he jerked her to her feet.

He picked up her stays and threw them at her.

"Put them on. I'll lace you. Oh yes, I know all about lacing.

No, I won't call Mammy to help you and have you lock the door and

skulk here like the coward you are."

"I'm not a coward," she cried, stung out of her fear. "I--"

"Oh, spare me your saga about shooting Yankees and facing Sherman's

army. You're a coward--among other things. If not for your own

sake, you are going tonight for Bonnie's sake. How could you

further ruin her chances? Put on your stays, quick."

Hastily she slipped off her wrapper and stood clad only in her

chemise. If only he would look at her and see how nice she looked

In her chemise, perhaps that frightening look would leave his face.

After all, he hadn't seen her in her chemise for ever and ever so

long. But he did not look. He was in her closet, going through

her dresses swiftly. He fumbled and drew out her new jade-green

watered-silk dress. It was cut low over the bosom and the skirt

was draped back over an enormous bustle and on the bustle was a

huge bunch of pink velvet roses.

"Wear that," he said, tossing it on the bed and coming toward her.

"No modest, matronly dove grays and lilacs tonight. Your flag must

be nailed to the mast, for obviously you'd run it down if it

wasn't. And plenty of rouge. I'm sure the woman the Pharisees

took in adultery didn't look half so pale. Turn around."

He took the strings of the stays in his hands and jerked them so

hard that she cried out, frightened, humiliated, embarrassed at

such an untoward performance.

"Hurts, does it?" He laughed shortly and she could not see his

face. "Pity it isn't around your neck."

Melanie's house blazed lights from every room and they could hear

the music far up the street. As they drew up in front, the

pleasant exciting sounds of many people enjoying themselves floated

out. The house was packed with guests. They overflowed on

verandas and many were sitting on benches in the dim lantern-hung

yard.

I can't go in--I can't, thought Scarlett, sitting in the carriage,

gripping her balled-up handkerchief. I can't. I won't. I will

jump out and run away, somewhere, back home to Tara. Why did Rhett

force me to come here? What will people do? What will Melanie do?

What will she look like? Oh, I can't face her. I will run away.

As though he read her mind, Rhett's hand closed upon her arm in a

grip that would leave a bruise, the rough grip of a careless

stranger.

"I've never known an Irishman to be a coward. Where's your much-

vaunted courage?"

"Rhett, do please, let me go home and explain."

"You have eternity in which to explain and only one night to be a

martyr in the amphitheater. Get out, darling, and let me see the

lions eat you. Get out."

She went up the walk somehow, the arm she was holding as hard and

steady as granite, communicating to her some courage. By God, she

could face them and she would. What were they but a bunch of

howling, clawing cats who were jealous of her? She'd show them.

She didn't care what they thought. Only Melanie--only Melanie.

They were on the porch and Rhett was bowing right and left, his hat