Voice like this once before and at some other crisis of her life.

Where had it been? The voice of a man facing himself and his world

without feeling, without flinching, without hope.

Why--why--it had been Ashley in the wintry, windswept orchard at

Tara, talking of life and shadow shows with a tired calmness that

had more finality in its timbre than any desperate bitterness could

have revealed. Even as Ashley's voice then had turned her cold

with dread of things she could not understand, so now Rhett's voice

made her heart sink. His voice, his manner, more than the content

of his words, disturbed her, made her realize that her pleasurable

excitement of a few moments ago had been untimely. Something was

wrong, badly wrong. What it was she did not know but she listened

desperately, her eyes on his brown face, hoping to hear words that

would dissipate her fears.

"It was so obvious that we were meant for each other. So obvious

that I was the only man of your acquaintance who could love you

after knowing you as you really are--hard and greedy and

unscrupulous, like me. I loved you and I took the chance. I

thought Ashley would fade out of your mind. But," he shrugged, "I

tried everything I knew and nothing worked. And I loved you so,

Scarlett. If you had only let me, I could have loved you as gently

and as tenderly as ever a man loved a woman. But I couldn't let

you know, for I knew you'd think me weak and try to use my love

against me. And always--always there was Ashley. It drove me

crazy. I couldn't sit across the table from you every night,

knowing you wished Ashley was sitting there in my place. And I

couldn't hold you in my arms at night and know that--well, it

doesn't matter now. I wonder, now, why it hurt. That's what drove

me to Belle. There is a certain swinish comfort in being with a

woman who loves you utterly and respects you for being a fine

gentleman--even if she is an illiterate whore. It soothed my

vanity. You've never been very soothing, my dear."

"Oh, Rhett . . ." she began, miserable at the very mention of

Belle's name, but he waved her to silence and went on.

"And then, that night when I carried you upstairs--I thought--I

hoped--I hoped so much I was afraid to face you the next morning,

for fear I'd been mistaken and you didn't love me. I was so afraid

you'd laugh at me I went off and got drunk. And when I came back,

I was shaking in my boots and if you had come even halfway to meet

me, had given me some sign, I think I'd have kissed your feet. But

you didn't."

"Oh, but Rhett, I did want you then but you were so nasty! I did

want you! I think--yes, that must have been when I first knew I

cared about you. Ashley--I never was happy about Ashley after

that, but you were so nasty that I--"

"Oh, well," he said. "It seems we've been at cross purposes,

doesn't it? But it doesn't matter now. I'm only telling you, so

you won't ever wonder about it all. When you were sick and it was

all my fault, I stood outside your door, hoping you'd call for me,

but you didn't, and then I knew what a fool I'd been and that it

was all over."

He stopped and looked through her and beyond her, even as Ashley

had often done, seeing something she could not see. And she could

only stare speechless at his brooding face.

"But then, there was Bonnie and I saw that everything wasn't over,

after all. I liked to think that Bonnie was you, a little girl

again, before the war and poverty had done things to you. She was

so like you, so willful, so brave and gay and full of high spirits,

and I could pet her and spoil her--just as I wanted to pet you.

But she wasn't like you--she loved me. It was a blessing that I

could take the love you didn't want and give it to her. . . . When

she went, she took everything."

Suddenly she was sorry for him, sorry with a completeness that

wiped out her own grief and her fear of what his words might mean.