Not Suellen!
She'd think herself well out of it and not care if Tara went for taxes or burned to the ground, so long as she had pretty clothes and a "Mrs." in front of her name.
As Scarlett thought of Suellen's secure future and the precarious one of herself and Tara, anger flamed in her at the unfairness of life.
Hastily she looked out of the buggy into the muddy street, lest Frank should see her expression.
She was going to lose everything she had, while Sue-- Suddenly a determination was born in her.
Suellen should not have Frank and his store and his mill!
Suellen didn't deserve them.
She was going to have them herself.
She thought of Tara and remembered Jonas Wilkerson, venomous as a rattler, at the foot of the front steps, and she grasped at the last straw floating above the shipwreck of her life.
Rhett had failed her but the Lord had provided Frank.
But can I get him?
Her fingers clenched as she looked unseeingly into the rain.
Can I make him forget Sue and propose to me real quick?
If I could make Rhett almost propose, I know I could get Frank!
Her eyes went over him, her lids flickering.
Certainly, he's no beauty, she thought coolly, and he's got very bad teeth and his breath smells bad and he's old enough to be my father.
Moreover, he's nervous and timid and well meaning, and I don't know of any more damning qualities a man can have.
But at least, he's a gentleman and I believe I could stand living with him better than with Rhett.
Certainly I could manage him easier.
At any rate, beggars can't be choosers.
That he was Suellen's fiance caused her no qualm of conscience.
After the complete moral collapse which had sent her to Atlanta and to Rhett, the appropriation of her sister's betrothed seemed a minor affair and one not to be bothered with at this time.
With the rousing of fresh hope, her spine stiffened and she forgot that her feet were wet and cold.
She looked at Frank so steadily, her eyes narrowing, that he became somewhat alarmed and she dropped her gaze swiftly, remembering Rhett's words:
"I've seen eyes like yours above a dueling pistol. . . . They evoke no ardor in the male breast."
"What's the matter, Miss Scarlett?
You got a chill?"
"Yes," she answered helplessly.
"Would you mind--" She hesitated timidly.
"Would you mind if I put my hand in your coat pocket?
It's so cold and my muff is soaked through."
"Why--why--of course not!
And you haven't any gloves!
My, my, what a brute I've been idling along like this, talking my head off when you must be freezing and wanting to get to a fire.
Giddap, Sally!
By the way, Miss Scarlett, I've been so busy talking about myself I haven't even asked you what you were doing in this section in this weather?"
"I was at the Yankee headquarters," she answered before she thought.
His sandy brows went up in astonishment.
"But Miss Scarlett!
The soldiers-- Why--"
"Mary, Mother of God, let me think of a real good lie," she prayed hastily.
It would never do for Frank to suspect she had seen Rhett.
Frank thought Rhett the blackest of blackguards and unsafe for decent women to speak to.
"I went there--I went there to see if--if any of the officers would buy fancy work from me to send home to their wives.
I embroider very nicely."
He sank back against the seat aghast, indignation struggling with bewilderment.
"You went to the Yankees-- But Miss Scarlett!
You shouldn't.
Why--why . . . Surely your father doesn't know!
Surely, Miss Pittypat--"