Voice sounded as if he were humbly seeking information.

"Sir," said Willie, his voice shaking, "if we were not under this

roof--"

"I tremble to think what would happen," said Rhett. "For, of

course, your bravery is too well known."

Willie went scarlet and all conversation ceased. Everyone was

embarrassed. Willie was strong and healthy and of military age

and yet he wasn't at the front. Of course, he was the only boy

his mother had and, after all, somebody had to be in the militia

to protect the state. But there were a few irreverent snickers

from convalescent officers when Rhett spoke of bravery.

"Oh, why doesn't he keep his mouth shut!" thought Scarlett

indignantly. "He's simply spoiling the whole party!"

Dr. Meade's brows were thunderous.

"Nothing may be sacred to you, young man," he said, in the voice

he always used when making speeches. "But there are many things

sacred to the patriotic men and ladies of the South. And the

freedom of our land from the usurper is one and States' Rights is

another and--"

Rhett looked lazy and his voice had a silky, almost bored, note.

"All wars are sacred," he said. "To those who have to fight them.

If the people who started wars didn't make them sacred, who would

be foolish enough to fight? But, no matter what rallying cries

the orators give to the idiots who fight, no matter what noble

purposes they assign to wars, there is never but one reason for a

war. And that is money. All wars are in reality money squabbles.

But so few people ever realize it. Their ears are too full of

bugles and drums and the fine words from stay-at-home orators.

Sometimes the rallying cry is 'Save the Tomb of Christ from the

Heathen!' Sometimes it's 'Down with Popery!' and sometimes

'Liberty!' and sometimes 'Cotton, Slavery and States' Rights!'"

"What on earth has the Pope to do with it?" thought Scarlett. "Or

Christ's tomb, either?"

But as she hurried toward the incensed group, she saw Rhett bow

jauntily and start toward the doorway through the crowd. She

started after him but Mrs. Elsing caught her skirt and held her.

"Let him go," she said in a clear voice that carried throughout

the tensely quiet room. "Let him go. He is a traitor, a

speculator! He is a viper that we have nursed to our bosoms!"

Rhett, standing in the hall, his hat in his hand, heard as he was

Intended to hear and, turning, surveyed the room for a moment. He

looked pointedly at Mrs. Elsing's flat bosom, grinned suddenly

and, bowing, made his exit.

Mrs. Merriwether rode home in Aunt Pitty's carriage, and scarcely

had the four ladies seated themselves when she exploded.

"There now, Pittypat Hamilton! I hope you are satisfied!"

"With what?" cried Pitty, apprehensively.

"With the conduct of that wretched Butler man you've been

harboring."

Pittypat fluttered, too upset by the accusation to recall that

Mrs. Merriwether had also been Rhett Butler's hostess on several

occasions. Scarlett and Melanie thought of this, but bred to

politeness to their elders, refrained from remarking on the

matter. Instead they studiously looked down at their mittened

hands.

"He insulted us all and the Confederacy too," said Mrs. Merriwether,

and her stout bust heaved violently beneath its glittering

passementerie trimmings. "Saying that we were fighting for money!

Saying that our leaders had lied to us! He should be put in jail.

Yes, he should. I shall speak to Dr. Meade about it. If Mr.

Merriwether were only alive, he'd tend to him! Now, Pitty Hamilton,

you listen to me. You mustn't ever let that scamp come into your

house again!"

"Oh," mumbled Pitty, helplessly, looking as if she wished she were

dead. She looked appealingly at the two girls who kept their eyes

cast down and then hopefully toward Uncle Peter's erect back. She

knew he was listening attentively to every word and she hoped he

would turn and take a hand in the conversation, as he frequently

did. She hoped he would say: "Now, Miss Dolly, you let Miss

Pitty be," but Peter made no move. He disapproved heartily of

Rhett Butler and poor Pitty knew it. She sighed and said: "Well,

Dolly, if you think--"

"I do think," returned Mrs. Merriwether firmly. "I can't imagine

what possessed you to receive him in the first place. After this

afternoon, there won't be a decent home in town that he'll be

welcome in. Do get up some gumption and forbid him your house."

She turned a sharp eye on the girls. "I hope you two are marking

my words," she continued, "for it's partly your fault, being so

pleasant to him. Just tell him politely but firmly that his

presence and his disloyal talk are distinctly unwelcome at your

house."

By this time Scarlett was boiling, ready to rear like a horse at

the touch of a strange rough hand on its bridle. But she was

afraid to speak. She could not risk Mrs. Merriwether writing

another letter to her mother.

"You old buffalo!" she thought, her face crimson with suppressed

fury. "How heavenly it would be to tell you just what I think of

you and your bossy ways!"

"I never thought to live long enough to hear such disloyal words

spoken of our Cause," went on Mrs. Merriwether, by this time in a

ferment of righteous anger. "Any man who does not think our Cause