In the front yard. How fragile and tender women are, he thought,

the mere mention of war and harshness makes them faint. The idea

made him feel very masculine and he was doubly gentle as he seated

her. She looked so strangely, and there was a wild beauty about

her white face that set his heart leaping. Could it be that she

was distressed by the thought that he might go to the war? No,

that was too conceited for belief. But why did she look at him so

oddly? And why did her hands shake as they fingered her lace

handkerchief. And her thick sooty lashes--they were fluttering

just like the eyes of girls in romances he had read, fluttering

with timidity and love.

He cleared his throat three times to speak and failed each time.

He dropped his eyes because her own green ones met his so

piercingly, almost as if she were not seeing him.

"He has a lot of money," she was thinking swiftly, as a thought

and a plan went through her brain. "And he hasn't any parents to

bother me and he lives in Atlanta. And if I married him right

away, it would show Ashley that I didn't care a rap--that I was

only flirting with him. And it would just kill Honey. She'd

never, never catch another beau and everybody'd laugh fit to die

at her. And it would hurt Melanie, because she loves Charles so

much. And it would hurt Stu and Brent--" She didn't quite know

why she wanted to hurt them, except that they had catty sisters.

"And they'd all be sorry when I came back here to visit in a fine

carriage and with lots of pretty clothes and a house of my own.

And they would never, never laugh at me."

"Of course, it will mean fighting," said Charles, after several

more embarrassed attempts. "But don't you fret, Miss Scarlett,

It'll be over in a month and we'll have them howling. Yes, sir!

Howling! I wouldn't miss it for anything. I'm afraid there won't

be much of a ball tonight, because the Troop is going to meet at

Jonesboro. The Tarleton boys have gone to spread the news. I

know the ladies will be sorry."

She said, "Oh," for want of anything better, but it sufficed.

Coolness was beginning to come back to her and her mind was

collecting itself. A frost lay over all her emotions and she

thought that she would never feel anything warmly again. Why not

take this pretty, flushed boy? He was as good as anyone else and

she didn't care. No, she could never care about anything again,

not if she lived to be ninety.

"I can't decide now whether to go with Mr. Wade Hampton's South

Carolina Legion or with the Atlanta Gate City Guard."

She said, "Oh," again and their eyes met and the fluttering lashes

were his undoing.

"Will you wait for me, Miss Scarlett? It--it would be Heaven just

knowing that you were waiting for me until after we licked them!"

He hung breathless on her words, watching the way her lips curled

up at the corners, noting for the first time the shadows about

these corners and thinking what it would mean to kiss them. Her

hand, with palm clammy with perspiration, slid into his.

"I wouldn't want to wait," she said and her eyes were veiled.

He sat clutching her hand, his mouth wide open. Watching him from

under her lashes, Scarlett thought detachedly that he looked like

a gigged frog. He stuttered several times, closed his mouth and

opened it again, and again became geranium colored.

"Can you possibly love me?"

She said nothing but looked down into her lap, and Charles was

thrown into new states of ecstasy and embarrassment. Perhaps a

man should not ask a girl such a question. Perhaps it would be

unmaidenly for her to answer it. Having never possessed the

courage to get himself into such a situation before, Charles was

at a loss as to how to act. He wanted to shout and to sing and to

kiss her and to caper about the lawn and then run tell everyone,

black and white, that she loved him. But he only squeezed her

hand until he drove her rings into the flesh.

"You will marry me soon, Miss Scarlett?"

"Um," she said, fingering a fold of her dress.

"Shall we make it a double wedding with Mel--"

"No," she said quickly, her eyes glinting up at him ominously.

Charles knew again that he had made an error. Of course, a girl

wanted her own wedding--not shared glory. How kind she was to

overlook his blunderings. If it were only dark and he had the

courage of shadows and could kiss her hand and say the things he

longed to say.

"When may I speak to your father?"

"The sooner the better," she said, hoping that perhaps he would

release the crushing pressure on her rings before she had to ask

him to do it.

He leaped up and for a moment she thought he was going to cut a

caper, before dignity claimed him. He looked down at her

radiantly, his whole clean simple heart in his eyes. She had

never had anyone look at her thus before and would never have it

from any other man, but in her queer detachment she only thought

that he looked like a calf.

"I'll go now and find your father," he said, smiling all over his

face. "I can't wait. Will you excuse me--dear?" The endearment

came hard but having said it once, he repeated it again with

pleasure.

"Yes," she said. "I'll wait here. It's so cool and nice here."

He went off across the lawn and disappeared around the house, and

she was alone under the rustling oak. From the stables, men were

streaming out on horseback, negro servants riding hard behind

their masters. The Munroe boys tore past waving their hats, and

the Fontaines and Calverts went down the road yelling. The four

Tarletons charged across the lawn by her and Brent shouted:

"Mother's going to give us the horses! Yee-aay-ee!" Turf flew

and they were gone, leaving her alone again.

The white house reared its tall columns before her, seeming to

withdraw with dignified aloofness from her. It would never be her

house now. Ashley would never carry her over the threshold as his

bride. Oh, Ashley, Ashley! What have I done? Deep in her, under

layers of hurt pride and cold practicality, something stirred

hurtingly. An adult emotion was being born, stronger than her

vanity or her willful selfishness. She loved Ashley and she knew

she loved him and she had never cared so much as in that instant

when she saw Charles disappearing around the curved graveled walk.

CHAPTER VII

Within two weeks Scarlett had become a wife, and within two months

more she was a widow. She was soon released from the bonds she

had assumed with so much haste and so little thought, but she was

never again to know the careless freedom of her unmarried days.

Widowhood had crowded closely on the heels of marriage but, to her

dismay, motherhood soon followed.

In after years when she thought of those last days of April, 1861,

Scarlett could never quite remember details. Time and events were

telescoped, jumbled together like a nightmare that had no reality

or reason. Till the day she died there would be blank spots in

her memories of those days. Especially vague were her recollections

of the time between her acceptance of Charles and her wedding. Two

weeks! So short an engagement would have been impossible in times

of peace. Then there would have been a decorous interval of a year

or at least six months. But the South was aflame with war, events

roared along as swiftly as if carried by a mighty wind and the slow

tempo of the old days was gone. Ellen had wrung her hands and

counseled delay, in order that Scarlett might think the matter over

at greater length. But to her pleadings, Scarlett turned a sullen

face and a deaf ear. Marry she would! and quickly too. Within two

weeks.

Learning that Ashley's wedding had been moved up from the autumn

to the first of May, so he could leave with the Troop as soon as