Value was the least reason. She could have sold them for large

sums any time in the last few years, but she had refused all

offers. The mills were the tangible evidence of what she had done,

unaided and against great odds, and she was proud of them and of

herself. Most of all, she did not want to sell them because they

were the only path that lay open to Ashley. If the mills went from

her control it would mean that she would seldom see Ashley and

probably never see him alone. And she had to see him alone. She

could not go on this way any longer, wondering what his feelings

toward her were now, wondering if all his love had died in shame

since the dreadful night of Melanie's party. In the course of

business she could find many opportune times for conversations

without it appearing to anyone that she was seeking him out. And,

given time, she knew she could gain back whatever ground she had

lost in his heart. But if she sold the mills--

No, she did not want to sell but, goaded by the thought that Rhett

had exposed her to Ashley in so truthful and so unflattering a

light, she had made up her mind instantly. Ashley should have the

mills and at a price so low he could not help realizing how

generous she was.

"I will sell!" she cried furiously. "Now, what do you think of

that?"

There was the faintest gleam of triumph in Rhett's eyes as he bent

to tie Bonnie's shoe string.

"I think you'll regret it," he said.

Already she was regretting the hasty words. Had they been spoken

to anyone save Rhett she would have shamelessly retracted them.

Why had she burst out like that? She looked at Rhett with an angry

frown and saw that he was watching her with his old keen, cat-at-a-

mouse-hole look. When he saw her frown, he laughed suddenly, his

white teeth flashing. Scarlett had an uncertain feeling that he

had jockeyed her into this position.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" she snapped.

"I?" His brows went up in mock surprise. "You should know me

better. I never go about the world doing good deeds if I can avoid

it."

That night she sold the mills and all her interest in them to

Ashley. She did not lose thereby for Ashley refused to take

advantage of her first low offer and met the highest bid that she

had ever had for them. When she had signed the papers and the

mills were irrevocably gone and Melanie was passing small glasses

of wine to Ashley and Rhett to celebrate the transaction, Scarlett

felt bereft, as though she had sold one of her children.

The mills had been her darlings, her pride, the fruit of her small

grasping hands. She had started with one little mill in those

black days when Atlanta was barely struggling up from ruin and

ashes and want was staring her in the face. She had fought and

schemed and nursed them through the dark times when Yankee

confiscation loomed, when money was tight and smart men going to

the wall. And now when Atlanta was covering its scars and

buildings were going up everywhere and newcomers flocking to the

town every day, she had two fine mills, two lumber yards, a dozen

mule teams and convict labor to operate the business at low cost.

Bidding farewell to them was like closing a door forever on a part

of her life, a bitter, harsh part but one which she recalled with a

nostalgic satisfaction.

She had built up this business and now she had sold it and she was

oppressed with the certainty that, without her at the helm, Ashley

would lose it all--everything that she had worked to build. Ashley

trusted everyone and still hardly knew a two-by-four from a six-by-

eight. And now she would never be able to give him the benefit of

her advice--all because Rhett had told him that she liked to boss

everything.

"Oh, damn Rhett!" she thought and as she watched him the conviction

grew that he was at the bottom of all this. Just how and why she

did not know. He was talking to Ashley and his words brought her

up sharply.

"I suppose you'll turn the convicts back right away," he said.

Turn the convicts back? Why should there be any idea of turning

them back? Rhett knew perfectly well that the large profits from

the mills grew out of the cheap convict labor. And why did Rhett

speak with such certainty about what Ashley's future actions would

be? What did he know of him?

"Yes, they'll go back immediately," replied Ashley and he avoided

Scarlett's dumbfounded gaze.

"Have you lost your mind?" she cried. "You'll lose all the money

on the lease and what kind of labor can you get, anyway?"

"I'll use free darkies," said Ashley.

"Free darkies! Fiddle-dee-dee! You know what their wages will

cost and besides you'll have the Yankees on your neck every minute

to see if you're giving them chicken three times a day and tucking

them to sleep under eiderdown quilts. And if you give a lazy darky

a couple of licks to speed him up, you'll hear the Yankees scream

from here to Dalton and you'll end up in jail. Why, convicts are

the only--"

Melanie looked down into her lap at her twisted hands. Ashley

looked unhappy but obdurate. For a moment he was silent. Then his

gaze crossed Rhett's and it was as if he found understanding and

encouragement in Rhett's eyes--a glance that was not lost on

Scarlett.

"I won't work convicts, Scarlett," he said quietly.

"Well, sir!" her breath was taken away. "And why not? Are you

afraid people will talk about you like they do about me?"

Ashley raised his head.

"I'm not afraid of what people say as long as I'm right. And I

have never felt that convict labor was right."

"But why--"

"I can't make money from the enforced labor and misery of others."

"But you owned slaves!"

"They weren't miserable. And besides, I'd have freed them all when

Father died if the war hadn't already freed them. But this is

different, Scarlett. The system is open to too many abuses.

Perhaps you don't know it but I do. I know very well that Johnnie

Gallegher has killed at least one man at his camp. Maybe more--who

cares about one convict, more or less? He said the man was killed

trying to escape, but that's not what I've heard elsewhere. And I

know he works men who are too sick to work. Call it superstition,

but I do not believe that happiness can come from money made from

the sufferings of others."

"God's nightgown! You mean--goodness, Ashley, you didn't swallow

all the Reverend Wallace's bellowings about tainted money?"

"I didn't have to swallow it. I believed it long before he

preached on it."

"Then, you must think all my money is tainted," cried Scarlett

beginning to be angry. "Because I worked convicts and own saloon

property and--" She stopped short. Both the Wilkes looked

embarrassed and Rhett was grinning broadly. Damn him, thought

Scarlett, vehemently. He's thinking that I'm sticking my finger in

other people's pies again and so is Ashley. I'd like to crack

their heads together! She swallowed her wrath and tried to assume

an aloof air of dignity but with little success.

"Of course, it's immaterial to me," she said.

"Scarlett, don't think I'm criticizing you! I'm not. It's just

that we look at things in different ways and what is good for you

might not be good for me."

She suddenly wished that they were alone, wished ardently that

Rhett and Melanie were at the end of the earth, so she could cry

out: "But I want to look at things the way you look at them! Tell

me just what you mean, so I can understand and be like you!"

But with Melanie present, trembling with the distress of the scene,

and Rhett lounging, grinning at her, she could only say with as

much coolness and offended virtue as she could muster: "I'm sure