When she grows up she will certainly be a belle.
But I suppose you know that any man who courts her will have a tussle with Captain Butler, for I never saw such a devoted father.
Now, my dear, I wish to confess something.
Until I met Captain Butler, I felt that your marriage with him had been a dreadful mesalliance for, of course, no one in Charleston hears anything good about him and everyone is so sorry for his family.
In fact, Eulalie and I were uncertain as to whether or not we should receive him--but, after all, the dear child is our great- niece.
When he came, we were pleasantly surprised, most pleasantly, and realized how un-Christian it is to credit idle gossip.
For he is most charming.
Quite handsome, too, we thought, and so very grave and courteous.
And so devoted to you and the child.
"And now, my dear, I must write you of something that has come to our ears--something Eulalie and I were loath to believe at first.
We had heard, of course, that you sometimes did help out at the store that Mr. Kennedy had left you.
We had heard rumors but, of course, we denied them.
We realized that in those first dreadful days after the war, it was perhaps necessary, conditions being what they were.
But there is no necessity now for such conduct on your part, as I know Captain Butler is in quite comfortable circumstances and is, moreover, fully capable of managing for you any business and property you may own.
We had to know the truth of these rumors and were forced to ask Captain Butler point-blank questions which was most distressing to all of us.
"With reluctance he told us that you spent your mornings at the store and would permit no one else to do the bookkeeping.
He also admitted that you had some interest in a mill or mills (we did not press him on this, being most upset at this information which was news to us) that necessitated your riding about alone, or attended by a ruffian who, Captain Butler assures us, is a murderer.
We could see how this wrung his heart and think he must be a most indulgent--in fact, a far too indulgent husband.
Scarlett, this must stop.
Your mother is not here to command you and I must do it in her place.
Think how your little children will feel when they grow older and realize that you were in trade!
How mortified they will be to know that you exposed yourself to the insults of rude men and the dangers of careless gossip in attending to mills.
Such unwomanly--"
Scarlett flung down the letter unfinished, with an oath.
She could just see Aunt Pauline and Aunt Eulalie sitting in judgment on her in the crumbling house on the Battery with little between them and starvation except what she, Scarlett, sent them every month.
Unwomanly?
By God, if she hadn't been unwomanly Aunt Pauline and Aunt Eulalie probably wouldn't have a roof over their heads this very moment.
And damn Rhett for telling them about the store and the bookkeeping and the mills!
Reluctant, was he?
She knew very well the joy he took in palming himself off on the old ladies as grave, courteous and charming, the devoted husband and father.
How he must have loved harrowing them with descriptions of her activities with the store, the mills, the saloon.
What a devil he was.
Why did such perverse things give him such pleasure?
But soon, even this rage passed into apathy.
So much of the keen zest had gone out of life recently.
If only she could recapture the thrill and the glow of Ashley--if only Rhett would come home and make her laugh.
They were home again, without warning.
The first intimation of their return was the sound of luggage being thumped on the front- hall floor and Bonnie's voice crying,
"Mother!"
Scarlett hurried from her room to the top of the stairs and saw her daughter stretching her short plump legs in an effort to climb the steps.
A resigned striped kitten was clutched to her breast.
"Gran'ma gave him to me," she cried excitedly, holding the kitten out by the scruff.
Scarlett swept her up into her arms and kissed her, thankful that the child's presence spared her her first meeting alone with Rhett.
Looking over Bonnie's head, she saw him in the hall below, paying the cab driver.
He looked up, saw her and swept off his hat in a wide gesture, bowing as he did.
When she met his dark eyes, her heart leaped.
No matter what he was, no matter what he had done, he was home and she was glad.
"Where's Mammy?" asked Bonnie, wriggling in Scarlett's grasp and she reluctantly set the child on her feet.
It was going to be more difficult than she anticipated, greeting Rhett with just the proper degree of casualness and, as for telling him about the new baby!
She looked at his face as he came up the steps, that dark nonchalant face, so impervious, so blank.