It did not occur to her that the idea was Rhett Butler's. It came

so patly and fitted so well with what she was thinking.

"Oh! What will your mother say when she hears? What will she

think of me?"

A cold qualm of guilt assailed Scarlett at the thought of Ellen's

consternation, should she ever learn of her daughter's scandalous

conduct. But she took heart at the thought of the twenty-five

miles between Atlanta and Tara. Miss Pitty certainly wouldn't

tell Ellen. It would put her in such a bad light as a chaperon.

And if Pitty didn't tattle, she was safe.

"I think--" said Pitty, "yes, I think I'd better write Henry a

letter about it--much as I hate it--but he's our only male

relative, and make him go speak reprovingly to Captain Butler--

Oh, dear, if Charlie were only alive-- You must never, never

speak to that man again, Scarlett."

Melanie had been sitting quietly, her hands in her lap, her

waffles cooling on her plate. She arose and, coming behind

Scarlett, put her arms about her neck.

"Darling," she said, "don't you get upset. I understand and it

was a brave thing you did last night and it's going to help the

hospital a lot. And if anybody dares say one little word about

you, I'll tend to them. . . . Aunt Pitty, don't cry. It has been

hard on Scarlett, not going anywhere. She's just a baby." Her

fingers played in Scarlett's black hair. "And maybe we'd all be

better off if we went out occasionally to parties. Maybe we've

been very selfish, staying here with our grief. War times aren't

like other times. When I think of all the soldiers in town who

are far from home and haven't any friends to call on at night--and

the ones in the hospital who are well enough to be out of bed and

not well enough to go back in the army-- Why, we have been

selfish. We ought to have three convalescents in our house this

minute, like everybody else, and some of the soldiers out to

dinner every Sunday. There, Scarlett, don't you fret. People

won't talk when they understand. We know you loved Charlie."

Scarlett was far from fretting and Melanie's soft hands in her

hair were irritating. She wanted to jerk her head away and say

"Oh, fiddle-dee-dee!" for the warming memory was still on her of

how the Home Guard and the militia and the soldiers from the

hospital had fought for her dances last night. Of all the people

In the world, she didn't want Melly for a defender. She could

defend herself, thank you, and if the old cats wanted to squall--

well, she could get along without the old cats. There were too

many nice officers in the world for her to bother about what old

women said.

Pittypat was dabbing at her eyes under Melanie's soothing words

when Prissy entered with a bulky letter.

"Fer you. Miss Melly. A lil nigger boy brung it."

"For me?" said Melly, wondering, as she ripped open the envelope.

Scarlett was making headway with her waffles and so noticed

nothing until she heard a burst of tears from Melly and, looking

up, saw Aunt Pittypat's hand go to her heart.

"Ashley's dead!" screamed Pittypat, throwing her head back and

letting her arms go limp.

"Oh, my God!" cried Scarlett, her blood turning to ice water.

"No! No!" cried Melanie. "Quick! Her smelling salts, Scarlett!

There, there, honey, do you feel better? Breathe deep. No, it's

not Ashley. I'm so sorry I scared you. I was crying because I'm

so happy," and suddenly she opened her clenched palm and pressed

some object that was in it to her lips. "I'm so happy," and burst

into tears again.

Scarlett caught a fleeting glimpse and saw that it was a broad

gold ring.

"Read it," said Melly, pointing to the letter on the floor. "Oh,

how sweet, how kind, he is!"

Scarlett, bewildered, picked up the single sheet and saw written

in a black, bold hand: "The Confederacy may need the lifeblood of

its men but not yet does it demand the heart's blood of its women.

Accept, dear Madam, this token of my reverence for your courage

and do not think that your sacrifice has been in vain, for this

ring has been redeemed at ten times its value. Captain Rhett

Butler."

Melanie slipped the ring on her finger and looked at it lovingly.

"I told you he was a gentleman, didn't I?" she said turning to

Pittypat, her smile bright through the teardrops on her face. "No

one but a gentleman of refinement and thoughtfulness would ever

have thought how it broke my heart to-- I'll send my gold chain

instead. Aunt Pittypat, you must write him a note and invite him

to Sunday dinner so I can thank him."

In the excitement, neither of the others seemed to have thought

that Captain Butler had not returned Scarlett's ring, too. But

she thought of it, annoyed. And she knew it had not been Captain

Butler's refinement that had prompted so gallant a gesture. It

was that he intended to be asked into Pittypat's house and knew

unerringly how to get the invitation.

"I was greatly disturbed to hear of your recent conduct," ran

Ellen's letter and Scarlett, who was reading it at the table,

scowled. Bad news certainly traveled swiftly. She had often

heard in Charleston and Savannah that Atlanta people gossiped more

and meddled in other people's business more than any other people