The house was packed with guests.
They overflowed on verandas and many were sitting on benches in the dim lantern-hung yard.
I can't go in--I can't, thought Scarlett, sitting in the carriage, gripping her balled-up handkerchief.
I can't.
I won't.
I will jump out and run away, somewhere, back home to Tara.
Why did Rhett force me to come here?
What will people do?
What will Melanie do?
What will she look like?
Oh, I can't face her.
I will run away.
As though he read her mind, Rhett's hand closed upon her arm in a grip that would leave a bruise, the rough grip of a careless stranger.
"I've never known an Irishman to be a coward.
Where's your much- vaunted courage?"
"Rhett, do please, let me go home and explain."
"You have eternity in which to explain and only one night to be a martyr in the amphitheater.
Get out, darling, and let me see the lions eat you.
Get out."
She went up the walk somehow, the arm she was holding as hard and steady as granite, communicating to her some courage.
By God, she could face them and she would.
What were they but a bunch of howling, clawing cats who were jealous of her?
She'd show them.
She didn't care what they thought.
Only Melanie--only Melanie.
They were on the porch and Rhett was bowing right and left, his hat in his hand, his voice cool and soft.
The music stopped as they entered and the crowd of people seemed to her confused mind to surge up to her like the roar of the sea and then ebb away, with lessening, ever-lessening sound.
Was everyone going to cut her?
Well, God's nightgown, let them do it!
Her chin went up and she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
Before she could turn to speak to those nearest the door, someone came through the press of people.
There was an odd hush that caught Scarlett's heart.
Then through the lane came Melanie on small feet that hurried, hurried to meet Scarlett at the door, to speak to her before anyone else could speak.
Her narrow shoulders were squared and her small jaw set indignantly and, for all her notice, she might have had no other guest but Scarlett.
She went to her side and slipped an arm about her waist.
"What a lovely dress, darling," she said in her small, clear voice.
"Will you be an angel?
India was unable to come tonight and assist me.
Will you receive with me?"
CHAPTER LIV
Safe in her room again, Scarlett fell on the bed, careless of her moire dress, bustle and roses.
For a time she could only lie still and think of standing between Melanie and Ashley, greeting guests.
What a horror!
She would face Sherman's army again rather than repeat that performance!
After a time, she rose from the bed and nervously paced the floor, shedding garments as she walked.
Reaction from strain set in and she began to shake.
Hairpins slipped out of her fingers and tinkled to the floor and when she tried to give her hair its customary hundred strokes, she banged the back of the brush hurtingly against her temple.
A dozen times she tiptoed to the door to listen for noises downstairs but the hall below lay like a black silent pit.
Rhett had sent her home alone in the carriage when the party was over and she had thanked God for the reprieve.
He had not come in yet.