Impressions in her mind.

Two things stood to the fore. She had lived for years with Rhett,

slept with him, eaten with him, quarreled with him and borne his

child--and yet, she did not know him. The man who had carried her

up the dark stairs was a stranger of whose existence she had not

dreamed. And now, though she tried to make herself hate him, tried

to be indignant, she could not. He had humbled her, hurt her, used

her brutally through a wild mad night and she had gloried in it.

Oh, she should be ashamed, should shrink from the very memory of

the hot swirling darkness! A lady, a real lady, could never hold

up her head after such a night. But, stronger than shame, was the

memory of rapture, of the ecstasy of surrender. For the first time

In her life she had felt alive, felt passion as sweeping and

primitive as the fear she had known the night she fled Atlanta, as

dizzy sweet as the cold hate when she had shot the Yankee.

Rhett loved her! At least, he said he loved her and how could she

doubt it now? How odd and bewildering and how incredible that he

loved her, this savage stranger with whom she had lived in such

coolness. She was not altogether certain how she felt about this

revelation but as an idea came to her she suddenly laughed aloud.

He loved her and so she had him at last. She had almost forgotten

her early desire to entrap him into loving her, so she could hold

the whip over his insolent black head. Now, it came back and it

gave her great satisfaction. For one night, he had had her at his

mercy but now she knew the weakness of his armor. From now on she

had him where she wanted him. She had smarted under his jeers for

a long time, but now she had him where she could make him jump

through any hoops she cared to hold.

When she thought of meeting him again, face to face in the sober

light of day, a nervous tingling embarrassment that carried with it

an exciting pleasure enveloped her.

"I'm nervous as a bride," she thought. "And about Rhett!" And, at

the idea she fell to giggling foolishly.

But Rhett did not appear for dinner, nor was he at his place at the

supper table. The night passed, a long night during which she lay

awake until dawn, her ears strained to hear his key in the latch.

But he did not come. When the second day passed with no word from

him, she was frantic with disappointment and fear. She went by the

bank but he was not there. She went to the store and was very

sharp with everyone, for every time the door opened to admit a

customer she looked up with a flutter, hoping it was Rhett. She

went to the lumber yard and bullied Hugh until he hid himself

behind a pile of lumber. But Rhett did not seek her there.

She could not humble herself to ask friends if they had seen him.

She could not make inquiries among the servants for news of him.

But she felt they knew something she did not know. Negroes always

knew everything. Mammy was unusually silent those two days. She

watched Scarlett out of the corner of her eye and said nothing.

When the second night had passed Scarlett made up her mind to go to

the police. Perhaps he had had an accident, perhaps his horse had

thrown him and he was lying helpless in some ditch. Perhaps--oh,

horrible thought--perhaps he was dead.

The next morning when she had finished her breakfast and was in her

room putting on her bonnet, she heard swift feet on the stairs. As

she sank to the bed in weak thankfulness, Rhett entered the room.

He was freshly barbered, shaved and massaged and he was sober, but

his eyes were bloodshot and his face puffy from drink. He waved an

airy hand at her and said: "Oh, hello."

How could a man say "Oh, hello," after being gone without

explanation for two days? How could he be so nonchalant with the

memory of such a night as they had spent? He couldn't unless--

unless--the terrible thought leaped into her mind. Unless such

nights were the usual thing to him. For a moment she could not

speak and all the pretty gestures and smiles she had thought to use

upon him were forgotten. He did not even come to her to give her

his usual offhand kiss but stood looking at her, with a grin, a

smoking cigar in his hand.

"Where--where have you been?"

"Don't tell me you don't know! I thought surely the whole town

knew by now. Perhaps they all do, except you. You know the old

adage: 'The wife is always the last one to find out.'"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought that after the police called at Belle's night before

last--"

"Belle's--that--that woman! You have been with--"

"Of course. Where else would I be? I hope you haven't worried

about me."

"You went from me to--oh!"

"Come, come, Scarlett! Don't play the deceived wife. You must

have known about Belle long ago."

"You went to her from me, after--after--"

"Oh, that." He made a careless gesture. "I will forget my

manners. My apologies for my conduct at our last meeting. I was