She looked up quickly to see if there was a jeer behind those words but there was none.
He was simply stating a fact.
But it was a fact she still would not believe--could not believe.
She looked at him with slanting eyes that burned with a desperate obstinacy and the sudden hard line of jaw that sprang out through her soft cheek was Gerald's jaw.
"Don't be a fool, Rhett!
I can make--"
He flung up a hand in mock horror and his black brows went up in the old sardonic crescents.
"Don't look so determined, Scarlett!
You frighten me.
I see you are contemplating the transfer of your tempestuous affections from Ashley to me and I fear for my liberty and my peace of mind.
No, Scarlett, I will not be pursued as the luckless Ashley was pursued.
Besides, I am going away."
Her jaw trembled before she clenched her teeth to steady it.
Go away?
No, anything but that!
How could life go on without him?
Everyone had gone from her, everyone who mattered except Rhett.
He couldn't go.
But how could she stop him?
She was powerless against his cool mind, his disinterested words.
"I am going away.
I intended to tell you when you came home from Marietta."
"You are deserting me?"
"Don't be the neglected, dramatic wife, Scarlett.
The role isn't becoming.
I take it, then, you do not want a divorce or even a separation?
Well, then, I'll come back often enough to keep gossip down."
"Damn gossip!" she said fiercely.
"It's you I want.
Take me with you!"
"No," he said, and there was finality in his voice.
For a moment she was on the verge of an outburst of childish wild tears.
She could have thrown herself on the floor, cursed and screamed and drummed her heels.
But some remnant of pride, of common sense stiffened her.
She thought, if I did, he'd only laugh, or just look at me.
I mustn't bawl; I mustn't beg.
I mustn't do anything to risk his contempt.
He must respect me even--even if he doesn't love me.
She lifted her chin and managed to ask quietly:
"Where will you go?"
There was a faint gleam of admiration in his eyes as he answered.
"Perhaps to England--or to Paris.
Perhaps to Charleston to try to make peace with my people."
"But you hate them!
I've heard you laugh at them so often and--"
He shrugged.
"I still laugh--but I've reached the end of roaming, Scarlett.
I'm forty-five--the age when a man begins to value some of the things he's thrown away so lightly in youth, the clannishness of families, honor and security, roots that go deep-- Oh, no!
I'm not recanting, I'm not regretting anything I've ever done.
I've had a hell of a good time--such a hell of a good time that it's begun to pall and now I want something different.