She wanted to be a great lady.
For a moment her mind went swiftly down the years and she saw her mother, moving with a sweet swish of skirts and a faint fragrance of sachet, her small busy hands tireless in the service of others, loved, respected, cherished.
And suddenly her heart was sick.
"If you are trying to devil me," she said tiredly, "it's no use.
I know I'm not as--scrupulous as I should be these days.
Not as kind and as pleasant as I was brought up to be.
But I can't help it, Rhett.
Truly, I can't.
What else could I have done?
What would have happened to me, to Wade, to Tara and all of us if I'd been-- gentle when that Yankee came to Tara?
I should have been--but I don't even want to think of that.
And when Jonas Wilkerson was going to take the home place, suppose I'd been--kind and scrupulous?
Where would we all be now?
And if I'd been sweet and simple minded and not nagged Frank about bad debts we'd--oh, well. Maybe I am a rogue, but I won't be a rogue forever, Rhett.
But during these past years--and even now--what else could I have done?
How else could I have acted?
I've felt that I was trying to row a heavily loaded boat in a storm.
I've had so much trouble just trying to keep afloat that I couldn't be bothered about things that didn't matter, things I could part with easily and not miss, like good manners and--well, things like that.
I've been too afraid my boat would be swamped and so I've dumped overboard the things that seemed least important."
"Pride and honor and truth and virtue and kindliness," he enumerated silkily.
"You are right, Scarlett.
They aren't important when a boat is sinking.
But look around you at your friends.
Either they are bringing their boats ashore safely with cargoes intact or they are content to go down with all flags flying."
"They are a passel of fools," she said shortly.
"There's a time for all things.
When I've got plenty of money, I'll be nice as you please, too.
Butter won't melt in my mouth.
I can afford to be then."
"You can afford to be--but you won't.
It's hard to salvage jettisoned cargo and, if it is retrieved, it's usually irreparably damaged.
And I fear that when you can afford to fish up the honor and virtue and kindness you've thrown overboard, you'll find they have suffered a sea change and not, I fear, into something rich and strange. . . ."
He rose suddenly and picked up his hat.
"You are going?"
"Yes.
Aren't you relieved?
I leave you to what remains of your conscience."
He paused and looked down at the baby, putting out a finger for the child to grip.
"I suppose Frank is bursting with pride?"
"Oh, of course."
"Has a lot of plans for this baby, I suppose?"
"Oh, well, you know how silly men are about their babies."
"Then, tell him," said Rhett and stopped short, an odd look on his face, "tell him if he wants to see his plans for his child work out, he'd better stay home at night more often than he's doing."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I say.
Tell him to stay home."
"Oh, you vile creature!
To insinuate that poor Frank would--"
"Oh, good Lord!"
Rhett broke into a roar of laughter.