And their inner unease communicated itself to Scarlett, making her more nervous than before.
Handling her needle awkwardly, she jabbed it into her thumb and with a little scream of pain and annoyance that made them all jump, she squeezed it until a bright red drop appeared.
"I'm just too nervous to sew," she declared, throwing her mending to the floor.
"I'm nervous enough to scream.
I want to go home and go to bed.
And Frank knew it and he oughtn't to have gone out.
He talks, talks, talks about protecting women against darkies and Carpetbaggers and when the time comes for him to do some protecting, where is he?
At home, taking care of me?
No, indeed, he's gallivanting around with a lot of other men who don't do anything but talk and--"
Her snapping eyes came to rest on India's face and she paused.
India was breathing fast and her pale lashless eyes were fastened on Scarlett's face with a deadly coldness.
"If it won't pain you too much, India," she broke off sarcastically, "I'd be much obliged if you'd tell me why you've been staring at me all evening.
Has my face turned green or something?"
"It won't pain me to tell you.
I'll do it with pleasure," said India and her eyes glittered.
"I hate to see you underrate a fine man like Mr. Kennedy when, if you knew--"
"India!" said Melanie warningly, her hands clenching on her sewing.
"I think I know my husband better than you do," said Scarlett, the prospect of a quarrel, the first open quarrel she had ever had with India, making her spirits rise and her nervousness depart.
Melanie's eyes caught India's and reluctantly India closed her lips.
But almost instantly she spoke again and her voice was cold with hate.
"You make me sick, Scarlett O'Hara, talking about being protected!
You don't care about being protected!
If you did you'd never have exposed yourself as you have done all these months, prissing yourself about this town, showing yourself off to strange men, hoping they'll admire you!
What happened to you this afternoon was just what you deserved and if there was any justice you'd have gotten worse."
"Oh, India, hush!" cried Melanie.
"Let her talk," cried Scarlett.
"I'm enjoying it.
I always knew she hated me and she was too much of a hypocrite to admit it.
If she thought anyone would admire her, she'd be walking the streets naked from dawn till dark."
India was on her feet, her lean body quivering with insult.
"I do hate you," she said in a clear but trembling voice.
"But it hasn't been hypocrisy that's kept me quiet.
It's something you can't understand, not possessing any--any common courtesy, common good breeding.
It's the realization that if all of us don't hang together and submerge our own small hates, we can't expect to beat the Yankees.
But you--you--you've done all you could to lower the prestige of decent people--working and bringing shame on a good husband, giving Yankees and riffraff the right to laugh at us and make insulting remarks about our lack of gentility.
Yankees don't know that you aren't one of us and have never been.
Yankees haven't sense enough to know that you haven't any gentility.
And when you've ridden about the woods exposing yourself to attack, you've exposed every well-behaved woman in town to attack by putting temptation in the ways of darkies and mean white trash.
And you've put our men folks' lives in danger because they've got to--"
"My God, India!" cried Melanie and even in her wrath, Scarlett was stunned to hear Melanie take the Lord's name in vain.
"You must hush!
She doesn't know and she--you must hush!
You promised--"
"Oh, girls!" pleaded Miss Pittypat, her lips trembling.
"What don't I know?"
Scarlett was on her feet, furious, facing the coldly blazing India and the imploring Melanie.
"Guinea hens," said Archie suddenly and his voice was contemptuous.
Before anyone could rebuke him, his grizzled head went up sharply and he rose swiftly.
"Somebody comin' up the walk.
'Tain't Mr. Wilkes neither.