Interrupting, Scarlett felt herself go cold with fear and

humiliation. Honey was a fool, a silly, a simpleton about men,

but she had a feminine instinct about other women that Scarlett

had underestimated. The mortification and hurt pride that she had

suffered in the library with Ashley and with Rhett Butler were pin

pricks to this. Men could be trusted to keep their mouths shut,

even men like Mr. Butler, but with Honey Wilkes giving tongue like

a hound in the field, the entire County would know about it before

six o'clock. And Gerald had said only last night that he wouldn't

be having the County laughing at his daughter. And how they would

all laugh now! Clammy perspiration, starting under her armpits,

began to creep down her ribs.

Melanie's voice, measured and peaceful, a little reproving, rose

above the others.

"Honey, you know that isn't so. And it's so unkind."

"It is too, Melly, and if you weren't always so busy looking for

the good in people that haven't got any good in them, you'd see

it. And I'm glad it's so. It serves her right. All Scarlett

O'Hara has ever done has been to stir up trouble and try to get

other girls' beaux. You know mighty well she took Stuart from

India and she didn't want him. And today she tried to take Mr.

Kennedy and Ashley and Charles--"

"I must get home!" thought Scarlett. "I must get home!"

If she could only be transferred by magic to Tara and to safety.

If she could only be with Ellen, just to see her, to hold onto her

skirt, to cry and pour out the whole story in her lap. If she had

to listen to another word, she'd rush in and pull out Honey's

straggly pale hair in big handfuls and spit on Melanie Hamilton to

show her just what she thought of her charity. But she'd already

acted common enough today, enough like white trash--that was where

all her trouble lay.

She pressed her hands hard against her skirts, so they would not

rustle and backed out as stealthily as an animal. Home, she

thought, as she sped down the hall, past the closed doors and

still rooms, I must go home.

She was already on the front porch when a new thought brought her

up sharply--she couldn't go home! She couldn't run away! She

would have to see it through, bear all the malice of the girls and

her own humiliation and heartbreak. To run away would only give

them more ammunition.

She pounded her clenched fist against the tall white pillar beside

her, and she wished that she were Samson, so that she could pull

down all of Twelve Oaks and destroy every person in it. She'd

make them sorry. She'd show them. She didn't quite see how she'd

show them, but she'd do it all the same. She'd hurt them worse

than they hurt her.

For the moment, Ashley as Ashley was forgotten. He was not the

tall drowsy boy she loved but part and parcel of the Wilkeses,

Twelve Oaks, the County--and she hated them all because they

laughed. Vanity was stronger than love at sixteen and there was

no room in her hot heart now for anything but hate.

"I won't go home," she thought. "I'll stay here and I'll make

them sorry. And I'll never tell Mother. No, I'll never tell

anybody." She braced herself to go back into the house, to

reclimb the stairs and go into another bedroom.

As she turned, she saw Charles coming into the house from the

other end of the long hall. When he saw her, he hurried toward

her. His hair was tousled and his face near geranium with

excitement.

"Do you know what's happened?" he cried, even before he reached

her. "Have you heard? Paul Wilson just rode over from Jonesboro

with the news!"

He paused, breathless, as he came up to her. She said nothing and

only stared at him.

"Mr. Lincoln has called for men, soldiers--I mean volunteers--

seventy-five thousand of them!"

Mr. Lincoln again! Didn't men ever think about anything that

really mattered? Here was this fool expecting her to be excited

about Mr. Lincoln's didoes when her heart was broken and her

reputation as good as ruined.

Charles stared at her. Her face was paper white and her narrow

eyes blazing like emeralds. He had never seen such fire in any

girl's face, such a glow in anyone's eyes.

"I'm so clumsy," he said. "I should have told you more gently. I

forgot how delicate ladies are. I'm sorry I've upset you so. You

don't feel faint, do you? Can I get you a glass of water?"

"No," she said, and managed a crooked smile.

"Shall we go sit on the bench?" he asked, taking her arm.

She nodded and he carefully handed her down the front steps and

led her across the grass to the iron bench beneath the largest oak