It when her fluttering heart made her faint--or seem to faint.

Triumph was written on her face and no trace of shame for her

unfilial treatment of Gerald. Now Ellen would be soothed with

lies if any other busybody wrote her. Now she could stay in

Atlanta. Now she could do almost as she pleased, Pittypat being

the weak vessel that she was. She unlocked the cellaret and stood

for a moment with the bottle and glass pressed to her bosom.

She saw a long vista of picnics by the bubbling waters of

Peachtree Creek and barbecues at Stone Mountain, receptions and

balls, afternoon danceables, buggy rides and Sunday-night buffet

suppers. She would be there, right in the heart of things, right

In the center of a crowd of men. And men fell in love so easily,

after you did little things for them at the hospital. She

wouldn't mind the hospital so much now. Men were so easily

stirred when they had been ill. They fell into a clever girl's

hand just like the ripe peaches at Tara when the trees were gently

shaken.

She went back toward her father with the reviving liquor, thanking

Heaven that the famous O'Hara head had not been able to survive

last night's bout and wondering suddenly if Rhett Butler had had

anything to do with that.

CHAPTER XI

On an afternoon of the following week, Scarlett came home from the

hospital weary and indignant. She was tired from standing on her

feet all morning and irritable because Mrs. Merriwether had

scolded her sharply for sitting on a soldier's bed while she

dressed his wounded arm. Aunt Pitty and Melanie, bonneted in

their best, were on the porch with Wade and Prissy, ready for

their weekly round of calls. Scarlett asked to be excused from

accompanying them and went upstairs to her room.

When the last sound of carriage wheels had died away and she knew

the family was safely out of sight, she slipped quietly into

Melanie's room and turned the key in the lock. It was a prim,

Virginal little room and it lay still and warm in the slanting

rays of the four-o'clock sun. The floors were glistening and bare

except for a few bright rag rugs, and the white walls unornamented

save for one corner which Melanie had fitted up as a shrine.

Here, under a draped Confederate flag, hung the gold-hilted saber

that Melanie's father had carried in the Mexican War, the same

saber Charles had worn away to war. Charles' sash and pistol belt

hung there too, with his revolver in the holster. Between the

saber and the pistol was a daguerreotype of Charles himself, very

stiff and proud in his gray uniform, his great brown eyes shining

out of the frame and a shy smile on his lips.

Scarlett did not even glance at the picture but went unhesitatingly

across the room to the square rosewood writing box that stood on the

table beside the narrow bed. From it she took a pack of letters

tied together with a blue ribbon, addressed in Ashley's hand to

Melanie. On the top was the letter which had come that morning and

this one she opened.

When Scarlett first began secretly reading these letters, she had

been so stricken of conscience and so fearful of discovery she

could hardly open the envelopes for trembling. Now, her never-

too-scrupulous sense of honor was dulled by repetition of the

offense and even fear of discovery had subsided. Occasionally,

she thought with a sinking heart, "What would Mother say if she

knew?" She knew Ellen would rather see her dead than know her

guilty of such dishonor. This had worried Scarlett at first, for

she still wanted to be like her mother in every respect. But the

temptation to read the letters was too great and she put the

thought of Ellen out of her mind. She had become adept at putting

unpleasant thoughts out of her mind these days. She had learned

to say, "I won't think of this or that bothersome thought now.