She was silent, trying to think just whom indeed.
After all, he had only done what Frank had done on a small scale.
"Half the money is honestly mine," he continued, "honestly made with the aid of honest Union patriots who were willing to sell out the Union behind its back--for one-hundred-per-cent profit on their goods.
Part I made out of my little investment in cotton at the beginning of the war, the cotton I bought cheap and sold for a dollar a pound when the British mills were crying for it.
Part I got from food speculation.
Why should I let the Yankees have the fruits of my labor?
But the rest did belong to the Confederacy.
It came from Confederate cotton which I managed to run through the blockade and sell in Liverpool at sky-high prices.
The cotton was given me in good faith to buy leather and rifles and machinery with.
And it was taken by me in good faith to buy the same.
My orders were to leave the gold in English banks, under my own name, in order that my credit would be good.
You remember when the blockade tightened, I couldn't get a boat out of any Confederate port or into one, so there the money stayed in England.
What should I have done?
Drawn out all that gold from English banks, like a simpleton, and tried to run it into Wilmington?
And let the Yankees capture it?
Was it my fault that the blockade got too tight?
Was it my fault that our Cause failed?
The money belonged to the Confederacy.
Well, there is no Confederacy now--though you'd never know it, to hear some people talk.
Whom shall I give the money to?
The Yankee government?
I should so hate for people to think me a thief."
He removed a leather case from his pocket, extracted a long cigar and smelled it approvingly, meanwhile watching her with pseudo anxiety as if he hung on her words.
Plague take him, she thought, he's always one jump ahead of me.
There is always something wrong with his arguments but I never can put my finger on just what it is.
"You might," she said with dignity, "distribute it to those who are in need.
The Confederacy is gone but there are plenty of Confederates and their families who are starving."
He threw back his bead and laughed rudely.
"You are never so charming or so absurd as when you are airing some hypocrisy like that," he cried in frank enjoyment.
"Always tell the truth, Scarlett.
You can't lie.
The Irish are the poorest liars in the world.
Come now, be frank.
You never gave a damn about the late lamented Confederacy and you care less about the starving Confederates.
You'd scream in protest if I even suggested giving away all the money unless I started off by giving you the lion's share."
"I don't want your money," she began, trying to be coldly dignified.
"Oh, don't you!
Your palm is itching to beat the band this minute.
If I showed you a quarter, you'd leap on it."
"If you have come here to insult me and laugh at my poverty, I will wish you good day," she retorted, trying to rid her lap of the heavy ledger so she might rise and make her words more impressive.
Instantly, he was on his feet bending over her, laughing as he pushed her back into her chair.
"When will you ever get over losing your temper when you hear the truth?
You never mind speaking the truth about other people, so why should you mind hearing it about yourself?
I'm not insulting you.
I think acquisitiveness is a very fine quality."
She was not sure what acquisitiveness meant but as he praised it she felt slightly mollified.
"I didn't come to gloat over your poverty but to wish you long life and happiness in your marriage.
By the way, what did sister Sue think of your larceny?"
"My what?"
"Your stealing Frank from under her nose."