GONE WITH THE WIND
This story is set during the American Civil War, and therefore contains characters and their language of the period, and other outdated cultural depictions. If you feel you are likely to be offended by these, do not read any further.
PART 10
"Why--it's--it's Mr. Rhett Butler, isn't it?" said Melanie with a little smile, putting out her hand. "I met you--"
"On the happy occasion of the announcement of your betrothal," he finished, bending over her hand. "It is kind of you to recall me."
"And what are you doing so far from Charleston, Mr. Butler?"
"A boring matter of business, Mrs. Wilkes. I will be in and out of your town from now on. I find I must not only bring in goods but see to the disposal of them."
"Bring in--" began Melly, her brow wrinkling, and then she broke into a delighted smile. "Why, you--you must be the famous Captain Butler we've been hearing so much about--the blockade runner. Why, every girl here is wearing dresses you brought in. Scarlett, aren't you thrilled--what's the matter, dear? Are you faint? Do sit down."
Scarlett sank to the stool, her breath coming so rapidly she feared the lacings of her stays would burst. Oh, what a terrible thing to happen! She had never thought to meet this man again. He picked up her black fan from the counter and began fanning her solicitously, too solicitously, his face grave but his eyes still dancing.
"It is quite warm in here," he said. "No wonder Miss O'Hara is faint. May I lead you to a window?"
"No," said Scarlett, so rudely that Melly stared.
"She is not Miss O'Hara any longer," said Melly. "She is Mrs. Hamilton. She is my sister now," and Melly bestowed one of her fond little glances on her. Scarlett felt that she would strangle at the expression on Captain Butler's swarthy piratical face.
"I am sure that is a great gain to two charming ladies," said he, making a slight bow. That was the kind of remark all men made, but when he said it it seemed to her that he meant just the opposite.
"Your husbands are here tonight, I trust, on this happy occasion? It would be a pleasure to renew acquaintances."
"My husband is in Virginia," said Melly with a proud lift of her head. "But Charles--" Her voice broke.
"He died in camp," said Scarlett flatly. She almost snapped the words. Would this creature never go away? Melly looked at her, startled, and the Captain made a gesture of self-reproach.
"My dear ladies--how could I! You must forgive me. But permit a stranger to offer the comfort of saying that to die for one's country is to live forever."
Melanie smiled at him through sparkling tears while Scarlett felt the fox of wrath and impotent hate gnaw at her vitals. Again he had made a graceful remark, the kind of compliment any gentleman would pay under such circumstances, but he did not mean a word of it. He was jeering at her. He knew she hadn't loved Charles. And Melly was just a big enough fool not to see through him. Oh, please God, don't let anybody else see through him, she thought with a start of terror. Would he tell what he knew? Of course he wasn't a gentleman and there was no telling what men would do when they weren't gentlemen. There was no standard to judge them by. She looked up at him and saw that his mouth was pulled down at the corners in mock sympathy, even while he swished the fan. Something in his look challenged her spirit and brought her strength back in a surge of dislike. Abruptly she snatched the fan from his hand.
"I'm quite all right," she said tartly. "There's no need to blow my hair out of place."
"Scarlett, darling! Captain Butler, you must forgive her. She-- she isn't herself when she hears poor Charlie's name spoken--and perhaps, after all, we shouldn't have come here tonight. We're still in mourning, you see, and it's quite a strain on her--all this gaiety and music, poor child."
"I quite understand," he said with elaborate gravity, but as he turned and gave Melanie a searching look that went to the bottom of her sweet worried eyes, his expression changed, reluctant respect and gentleness coming over his dark face. "I think you're a courageous little lady, Mrs. Wilkes."
"Not a word about me!" thought Scarlett indignantly, as Melly smiled in confusion and answered,
"Dear me, no, Captain Butler! The hospital committee just had to have us for this booth because at the last minute-- A pillow case? Here's a lovely one with a flag on it."
She turned to three cavalrymen who appeared at her counter. For a moment, Melanie thought how nice Captain Butler was. Then she wished that something more substantial than cheesecloth was between her skirt and the spittoon that stood just outside the booth, for the aim of the horsemen with amber streams of tobacco juice was not so unerring as with their long horse pistols. Then she forgot about the Captain, Scarlett and the spittoons as more customers crowded to her.
Scarlett sat quietly on the stool fanning herself, not daring to look up, wishing Captain Butler back on the deck of his ship where he belonged.
"Your husband has been dead long?"
"Oh, yes, a long time. Almost a year."
"An aeon, I'm sure."
Scarlett was not sure what an aeon was, but there was no mistaking the baiting quality of his voice, so she said nothing.
"Had you been married long? Forgive my questions but I have been away from this section for so long."
"Two months," said Scarlett, unwillingly.
"A tragedy, no less," his easy voice continued.
Oh, damn him, she thought violently. If he was any other man in the world I could simply freeze up and order him off. But he knows about Ashley and he knows I didn't love Charlie. And my hands are tied. She said nothing, still looking down at her fan.
"And this is your first social appearance?"
"I know it looks quite odd," she explained rapidly. "But the McLure girls who were to take this booth were called away and there was no one else, so Melanie and I--"
"No sacrifice is too great for the Cause."
Why, that was what Mrs. Elsing had said, but when she said it it didn't sound the same way. Hot words started to her lips but she choked them back. After all, she was here, not for the Cause, but because she was tired of sitting home.
"I have always thought," he said reflectively, "that the system of mourning, of immuring women in crepe for the rest of their lives and forbidding them normal enjoyment is just as barbarous as the Hindu suttee."
"Settee?"
He laughed and she blushed for her ignorance. She hated people who used words unknown to her.
"In India, when a man dies he is burned, instead of buried, and his wife always climbs on the funeral pyre and is burned with him."
"How dreadful! Why do they do it? Don't the police do anything about it?"
"Of course not. A wife who didn't burn herself would be a social outcast. All the worthy Hindu matrons would talk about her for not behaving as a well-bred lady should--precisely as those worthy matrons in the corner would talk about you, should you appear tonight in a red dress and lead a reel. Personally, I think suttee much more merciful than our charming Southern custom of burying widows alive!"
"How dare you say I'm buried alive!"
"How closely women crutch the very chains that bind them! You think the Hindu custom barbarous--but would you have had the courage to appear here tonight if the Confederacy hadn't needed you?"
Arguments of this character were always confusing to Scarlett. His were doubly confusing because she had a vague idea there was truth in them. But now was the time to squelch him.
"Of course, I wouldn't have come. It would have been--well, disrespectful to--it would have seemed as if I hadn't lov--"
His eyes waited on her words, cynical amusement in them, and she could not go on. He knew she hadn't loved Charlie and he wouldn't let her pretend to the nice polite sentiments that she should express. What a terrible, terrible thing it was to have to do with a man who wasn't a gentleman. A gentleman always appeared to believe a lady even when he knew she was lying. That was Southern chivalry. A gentleman always obeyed the rules and said the correct things and made life easier for a lady. But this man seemed not to care for rules and evidently enjoyed talking of things no one ever talked about.
"I am waiting breathlessly."
"I think you are horrid," she said, helplessly, dropping her eyes.
He leaned down across the counter until his mouth was near her ear and hissed, in a very creditable imitation of the stage villains who appeared infrequently at the Athenaeum Hall: "Fear not, fair lady! Your guilty secret is safe with me!"
"Oh," she whispered, feverishly, "how can you say such things!"
"I only thought to ease your mind. What would you have me say? 'Be mine, beautiful female, or I will reveal all?'"
She met his eyes unwillingly and saw they were as teasing as a small boy's. Suddenly she laughed. It was such a silly situation, after all. He laughed too, and so loudly that several of the chaperons in the corner looked their way. Observing how good a time Charles Hamilton's widow appeared to be having with a perfect stranger, they put their heads together disapprovingly.
There was a roll of drums and many voices cried "Sh!" as Dr. Meade mounted the platform and spread out his arms for quiet.
"We must all give grateful thanks to the charming ladies whose indefatigable and patriotic efforts have made this bazaar not only a pecuniary success," he began, "but have transformed this rough hall into a bower of loveliness, a fit garden for the charming rosebuds I see about me."
Everyone clapped approvingly.
"The ladies have given their best, not only of their time but of the labor of their hands, and these beautiful objects in the booths are doubly beautiful, made as they are by the fair hands of our charming Southern women."
There were more shouts of approval, and Rhett Butler who had been lounging negligently against the counter at Scarlett's side whispered: "Pompous goat, isn't he?"
Startled, at first horrified, at this lese majesty toward Atlanta's most beloved citizen, she stared reprovingly at him. But the doctor did look like a goat with his gray chin whiskers wagging away at a great rate, and with difficulty she stifled a giggle.
"But these things are not enough. The good ladies of the hospital committee, whose cool hands have soothed many a suffering brow and brought back from the jaws of death our brave men wounded in the bravest of all Causes, know our needs. I will not enumerate them. We must have more money to buy medical supplies from England, and we have with us tonight the intrepid captain who has so successfully run the blockade for a year and who will run it again to bring us the drugs we need. Captain Rhett Butler!"
Though caught unawares, the blockader made a graceful bow--too graceful, thought Scarlett, trying to analyze it. It was almost as if he overdid his courtesy because his contempt for everybody present was so great. There was a loud burst of applause as he bowed and a craning of necks from the ladies in the corner. So that was who poor Charles Hamilton's widow was carrying on with! And Charlie hardly dead a year!
"We need more gold and I am asking you for it," the doctor continued. "I am asking a sacrifice but a sacrifice so small compared with the sacrifices our gallant men in gray are making that it will seem laughably small. Ladies, I want your jewelry. _I_ want your jewelry? No, the Confederacy wants your jewelry, the Confederacy calls for it and I know no one will hold back. How fair a gem gleams on a lovely wrist! How beautifully gold brooches glitter on the bosoms of our patriotic women! But how much more beautiful is sacrifice than all the gold and gems of the Ind. The gold will be melted and the stones sold and the money used to buy drugs and other medical supplies. Ladies, there will pass among you two of our gallant wounded, with baskets and--" But the rest of his speech was lost in the storm and tumult of clapping hands and cheering voices.
Scarlett's first thought was one of deep thankfulness that mourning forbade her wearing her precious earbobs and the heavy gold chain that had been Grandma Robillard's and the gold and black enameled bracelets and the garnet brooch. She saw the little Zouave, a split-oak basket over his unwounded arm, making the rounds of the crowd on her side of the hall and saw women, old and young, laughing, eager, tugging at bracelets, squealing in pretended pain as earrings came from pierced flesh, helping each other undo stiff necklace clasps, unpinning brooches from bosoms. There was a steady little clink-clink of metal on metal and cries of "Wait--wait! I've got it unfastened now. There!" Maybelle Merriwether was pulling off her lovely twin bracelets from above and below her elbows. Fanny Elsing, crying "Mamma, may I?" was tearing from her curls the seed-pearl ornament set in heavy gold which had been in the family for generations. As each offering went into the basket, there was applause and cheering.
The grinning little man was coming to their booth now, his basket heavy on his arm, and as he passed Rhett Butler a handsome gold cigar case was thrown carelessly into the basket. When he came to Scarlett and rested his basket upon the counter, she shook her head throwing wide her hands to show that she had nothing to give. It was embarrassing to be the only person present who was giving nothing. And then she saw the bright gleam of her wide gold wedding ring.
For a confused moment she tried to remember Charles' face--how he had looked when he slipped it on her finger. But the memory was blurred, blurred by the sudden feeling of irritation that memory of him always brought to her. Charles--he was the reason why life was over for her, why she was an old woman.
With a sudden wrench she seized the ring but it stuck. The Zouave was moving toward Melanie.
"Wait!" cried Scarlett. "I have something for you!" The ring came off and, as she started to throw it into the basket, heaped up with chains, watches, rings, pins and bracelets, she caught Rhett Butler's eye. His lips were twisted in a slight smile. Defiantly, she tossed the ring onto the top of the pile.
"Oh, my darling!" whispered Molly, clutching her arm, her eyes blazing with love and pride. "You brave, brave girl! Wait-- please, wait, Lieutenant Picard! I have something for you, too!"
She was tugging at her own wedding ring, the ring Scarlett knew had never once left that finger since Ashley put it there. Scarlett knew, as no one did, how much it meant to her. It came off with difficulty and for a brief instant was clutched tightly in the small palm. Then it was laid gently on the pile of jewelry. The two girls stood looking after the Zouave who was moving toward the group of elderly ladies in the corner, Scarlett defiant, Melanie with a look more pitiful than tears. And neither expression was lost on the man who stood beside them.
"If you hadn't been brave enough to do it, I would never have been either," said Melly, putting her arm about Scarlett's waist and giving her a gentle squeeze. For a moment Scarlett wanted to shake her off and cry "Name of God!" at the top of her lungs, as Gerald did when he was irritated, but she caught Rhett Butler's eye and managed a very sour smile. It was annoying the way Melly always misconstrued her motives--but perhaps that was far preferable to having her suspect the truth.
"What a beautiful gesture," said Rhett Butler, softly. "It is such sacrifices as yours that hearten our brave lads in gray."
Hot words bubbled to her lips and it was with difficulty that she checked them. There was mockery in everything he said. She disliked him heartily, lounging there against the booth. But there was something stimulating about him, something warm and vital and electric. All that was Irish in her rose to the challenge of his black eyes. She decided she was going to take this man down a notch or two. His knowledge of her secret gave him an advantage over her that was exasperating, so she would have to change that by putting him at a disadvantage somehow. She stifled her impulse to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Sugar always caught more flies than vinegar, as Mammy often said, and she was going to catch and subdue this fly, so he could never again have her at his mercy.
"Thank you," she said sweetly, deliberately misunderstanding his jibe. "A compliment like that coming from so famous a man as Captain Butler is appreciated."
He threw back his head and laughed freely--yelped, was what Scarlett thought fiercely, her face becoming pink again.
"Why don't you say what you really think?" he demanded, lowering his voice so that in the clatter and excitement of the collection, it came only to her ears. "Why don't you say I'm a damned rascal and no gentleman and that I must take myself off or you'll have one of these gallant boys in gray call me out?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to answer tartly, but she managed by heroic control to say: "Why, Captain Butler! How you do run on! As if everybody didn't know how famous you are and how brave and what a--what a--
"I am disappointed in you," he said.
"Disappointed?"
"Yes. On the occasion of our first eventful meeting I thought to myself that I had at last met a girl who was not only beautiful but who had courage. And now I see that you are only beautiful."
"Do you mean to call me a coward?" She was ruffling like a hen.
"Exactly. You lack the courage to say what you really think. When I first met you, I thought: There is a girl in a million. She isn't like these other silly little fools who believe everything their mammas tell them and act on it, no matter how they feel. And conceal all their feelings and desires and little heartbreaks behind a lot of sweet words. I thought: Miss O'Hara is a girl of rare spirit. She knows what she wants and she doesn't mind speaking her mind--or throwing vases."
"Oh," she said, rage breaking through. "Then I'll speak my mind right this minute. If you'd had any raising at all you'd never have come over here and talked to me. You'd have known I never wanted to lay eyes on you again! But you aren't a gentleman! You are just a nasty ill-bred creature! And you think that because your rotten little boats can outrun the Yankees, you've the right to come here and jeer at men who are brave and women who are sacrificing everything for the Cause--"
"Stop, stop--" he begged with a grin. "You started off very nicely and said what you thought, but don't begin talking to me about the Cause. I'm tired of hearing about it and I'll bet you are, too--"
"Why, how did--" she began, caught off her balance, and then checked herself hastily, boiling with anger at herself for falling into his trap.
"I stood there in the doorway before you saw me and I watched you," he said. "And I watched the other girls. And they all looked as though their faces came out of one mold. Yours didn't. You have an easy face to read. You didn't have your mind on your business and I'll wager you weren't thinking about our Cause or the hospital. It was all over your face that you wanted to dance and have a good time and you couldn't. So you were mad clean through. Tell the truth. Am I not right?"
"I have nothing more to say to you, Captain Butler," she said as formally as she could, trying to draw the rags of her dignity about her. "Just because you're conceited at being the 'great blockader' doesn't give you the right to insult women."
"The great blockader! That's a joke. Pray give me only one moment more of your precious time before you cast me into darkness. I wouldn't want so charming a little patriot to be left under a misapprehension about my contribution to the Confederate Cause."
"I don't care to listen to your brags."
"Blockading is a business with me and I'm making money out of it. When I stop making money out of it, I'll quit. What do you think of that?"
"I think you're a mercenary rascal--just like the Yankees."
"Exactly," he grinned. "And the Yankees help me make my money. Why, last month I sailed my boat right into New York harbor and took on a cargo."
"What!" cried Scarlett, interested and excited in spite of herself. "Didn't they shell you?"
"My poor innocent! Of course not. There are plenty of sturdy Union patriots who are not averse to picking up money selling goods to the Confederacy. I run my boat into New York, buy from Yankee firms, sub rosa, of course, and away I go. And when that gets a bit dangerous, I go to Nassau where these same Union patriots have brought powder and shells and hoop skirts for me. It's more convenient than going to England. Sometimes it's a bit difficult running it into Charleston or Wilmington--but you'd be surprised how far a little gold goes."
"Oh, I knew Yankees were vile but I didn't know--"
"Why quibble about the Yankees earning an honest penny selling out the Union? It won't matter in a hundred years. The result will be the same. They know the Confederacy will be licked eventually, so why shouldn't they cash in on it?"
"Licked--us?"
"Of course."
"Will you please leave me--or will it be necessary for me to call my carriage and go home to get rid of you?"
"A red-hot little Rebel," he said, with another sudden grin. He bowed and sauntered off, leaving her with her bosom heaving with impotent rage and indignation. There was disappointment burning in her that she could not quite analyze, the disappointment of a child seeing illusions crumble. How dared he take the glamor from the blockaders! And how dared he say the Confederacy would be licked! He should be shot for that--shot like a traitor. She looked about the hall at the familiar faces, so assured of success, so brave, so devoted, and somehow a cold little chill set in at her heart. Licked? These people--why, of course not! The very idea was impossible, disloyal.
"What were you two whispering about?" asked Melanie, turning to Scarlett as her customers drifted off. "I couldn't help seeing that Mrs. Merriwether had her eye on you all the time and, dear, you know how she talks."
"Oh, the man's impossible--an ill-bred boor," said Scarlett. "And as for old lady Merriwether, let her talk. I'm sick of acting like a ninny, just for her benefit."
"Why, Scarlett!" cried Melanie, scandalized.
"Sh-sh," said Scarlett. "Dr. Meade is going to make another announcement."
The gathering quieted again as the doctor raised his voice, at first in thanks to the ladies who had so willingly given their jewelry.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to propose a surprise-- an innovation that may shock some of you, but I ask you to remember that all this is done for the hospital and for the benefit of our boys lying there."
Everyone edged forward, in anticipation, trying to imagine what the sedate doctor could propose that would be shocking.
"The dancing is about to begin and the first number will, of course, be a reel, followed by a waltz. The dances following, the polkas, the schottisches, the mazurkas, will be preceded by short reels. I know the gentle rivalry to lead the reels very well and so--" The doctor mopped his brow and cast a quizzical glance at the corner, where his wife sat among the chaperons. "Gentlemen, if you wish to lead a reel with the lady of your choice, you must bargain for her. I will be auctioneer and the proceeds will go to the hospital."
Fans stopped in mid-swish and a ripple of excited murmuring ran through the hall. The chaperons' corner was in tumult and Mrs. Meade, anxious to support her husband in an action of which she heartily disapproved, was at a disadvantage. Mrs. Elsing, Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Whiting were red with indignation. But suddenly the Home Guard gave a cheer and it was taken up by the other uniformed guests. The young girls clapped their hands and jumped excitedly.
"Don't you think it's--it's just--just a little like a slave auction?" whispered Melanie, staring uncertainly at the embattled doctor who heretofore had been perfect in her eyes.
Scarlett said nothing but her eyes glittered and her heart contracted with a little pain. If only she were not a widow. If only she were Scarlett O'Hara again, out there on the floor in an apple-green dress with dark-green velvet ribbons dangling from her bosom and tuberoses in her black hair--she'd lead that reel. Yes, indeed! There'd be a dozen men battling for her and paying over money to the doctor. Oh, to have to sit here, a wallflower against her will and see Fanny or Maybelle lead the first reel as the belle of Atlanta!
Above the tumult sounded the voice of the little Zouave, his Creole accent very obvious: "Eef I may--twenty dollars for Mees Maybelle Merriwether."
Maybelle collapsed with blushes against Fanny's shoulder and the two girls hid their faces in each other's necks and giggled, as other voices began calling other names, other amounts of money. Dr. Meade had begun to smile again, ignoring completely the indignant whispers that came from the Ladies' Hospital Committee in the corner.
At first, Mrs. Merriwether had stated flatly and loudly that her Maybelle would never take part in such a proceeding; but as Maybelle's name was called most often and the amount went up to seventy-five dollars, her protests began to dwindle. Scarlett leaned her elbows on the counter and almost glared at the excited laughing crowd surging about the platform, their hands full of Confederate paper money.
Now, they would all dance--except her and the old ladies. Now everyone would have a good time, except her. She saw Rhett Butler standing just below the doctor and, before she could change the expression of her face, he saw her and one corner of his mouth went down and one eyebrow went up. She jerked her chin up and turned away from him and suddenly she heard her own name called-- called in an unmistakable Charleston voice that rang out above the hubbub of other names.
"Mrs. Charles Hamilton--one hundred and fifty dollars--in gold."
A sudden hush fell on the crowd both at the mention of the sum and at the name. Scarlett was so startled she could not even move. She remained sitting with her chin in her hands, her eyes wide with astonishment. Everybody turned to look at her. She saw the doctor lean down from the platform and whisper something to Rhett Butler. Probably telling him she was in mourning and it was impossible for her to appear on the floor. She saw Rhett's shoulders shrug lazily.
"Another one of our belles, perhaps?" questioned the doctor.
"No," said Rhett clearly, his eyes sweeping the crowd carelessly. "Mrs. Hamilton."
"I tell you it is impossible," said the doctor testily. "Mrs. Hamilton will not--"
Scarlett heard a voice which, at first, she did not recognize as her own.
"Yes, I will!"
She leaped to her feet, her heart hammering so wildly she feared she could not stand, hammering with the thrill of being the center of attention again, of being the most highly desired girl present and oh, best of all, at the prospect of dancing again.
"Oh, I don't care! I don't care what they say!" she whispered, as a sweet madness swept over her. She tossed her head and sped out of the booth, tapping her heels like castanets, snapping open her black silk fan to its widest.
For a fleeting instant she saw Melanie's incredulous face, the look on the chaperons' faces, the petulant girls, the enthusiastic approval of the soldiers.
Then she was on the floor and Rhett Butler was advancing toward her through the aisle of the crowd, that nasty mocking smile on his face. But she didn't care--didn't care if he were Abe Lincoln himself! She was going to dance again. She was going to lead the reel. She swept him a low curtsy and a dazzling smile and he bowed, one hand on his frilled bosom. Levi, horrified, was quick to cover the situation and bawled: "Choose yo' padners fo' de Ferginny reel!"
And the orchestra crashed into that best of all reel tunes, "Dixie."
"How dare you make me so conspicuous, Captain Butler?"
"But, my dear Mrs. Hamilton, you so obviously wanted to be conspicuous!"
"How could you call my name out in front of everybody?"
"You could have refused."
"But--I owe it to the Cause--I--I couldn't think of myself when you were offering so much in gold. Stop laughing, everyone is looking at us."
"They will look at us anyway. Don't try to palm off that twaddle about the Cause to me. You wanted to dance and I gave you the opportunity. This march is the last figure of the reel, isn't it?"
"Yes--really, I must stop and sit down now."
"Why? Have I stepped on your feet?"
"No--but they'll talk about me."
"Do you really care--down in your heart?"
"Well--"
"You aren't committing any crime, are you? Why not dance the waltz with me?"
"But if Mother ever--"
"Still tied to mamma's apronstrings."
"Oh, you have the nastiest way of making virtues sound so stupid."
"But virtues are stupid. Do you care if people talk?"
"No--but--well, let's don't talk about it. Thank goodness the waltz is beginning. Reels always leave me breathless."
"Don't dodge my questions. Has what other women said ever mattered to you?"
"Oh, if you're going to pin me down--no! But a girl is supposed to mind. Tonight, though, I don't care."
"Bravo! Now you are beginning to think for yourself instead of letting others think for you. That's the beginning of wisdom."
"Oh, but--"
"When you've been talked about as much as I have, you'll realize how little it matters. Just think, there's not a home in Charleston where I am received. Not even my contribution to our just and holy Cause lifts the ban."
"How dreadful!"
"Oh, not at all. Until you've lost your reputation, you never realize what a burden it was or what freedom really is."
"You do talk scandalous!"
"Scandalously and truly. Always providing you have enough courage--or money--you can do without a reputation."
"Money can't buy everything."
"Someone must have told you that. You'd never think of such a platitude all by yourself. What can't it buy?"
"Oh, well, I don't know--not happiness or love, anyway."
"Generally it can. And when it can't, it can buy some of the most remarkable substitutes."
"And have you so much money, Captain Butler?"
"What an ill-bred question, Mrs. Hamilton. I'm surprised. But, yes. For a young man cut off without a shilling in early youth, I've done very well. And I'm sure I'll clean up a million on the blockade."
"Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes! What most people don't seem to realize is that there is just as much money to be made out of the wreckage of a civilization as from the upbuilding of one."
"And what does all that mean?"
"Your family and my family and everyone here tonight made their money out of changing a wilderness into a civilization. That's empire building. There's good money in empire building. But, there's more in empire wrecking."
"What empire are you talking about?"
"This empire we're living in--the South--the Confederacy--the Cotton Kingdom--it's breaking up right under our feet. Only most fools won't see it and take advantage of the situation created by the collapse. I'm making my fortune out of the wreckage."
"Then you really think we're going to get licked?"
"Yes. Why be an ostrich?"
"Oh, dear, it bores me to talk about such like. Don't you ever say pretty things, Captain Butler?"
"Would it please you if I said your eyes were twin goldfish bowls filled to the brim with the clearest green water and that when the fish swim to the top, as they are doing now, you are devilishly charming?"
"Oh, I don't like that. . . . Isn't the music gorgeous? Oh, I could waltz forever! I didn't know I had missed it so!"
"You are the most beautiful dancer I've ever held in my arms."
"Captain Butler, you must not hold me so tightly. Everybody is looking."
"If no one were looking, would you care?"
"Captain Butler, you forget yourself."
"Not for a minute. How could I, with you in my arms? . . . What is that tune? Isn't it new?"
"Yes. Isn't it divine? It's something we captured from the Yankees."
"What's the name of it?"
"'When This Cruel War Is Over.'"
"What are the words? Sing them to me."
"Dearest one, do you remember When we last did meet? When you told me how you loved me, Kneeling at my feet? Oh, how proud you stood before me In your suit of gray, When you vowed from me and country Ne'er to go astray. Weeping sad and lonely, Sighs and tears how vain! When this cruel war is over Pray that we meet again!"
"Of course, it was 'suit of blue' but we changed it to 'gray.' . . . Oh, you waltz so well, Captain Butler. Most big men don't, you know. And to think it will be years and years before I'll dance again."
"It will only be a few minutes. I'm going to bid you in for the next reel--and the next and the next."
"Oh, no, I couldn't! You mustn't! My reputation will be ruined."
"It's in shreds already, so what does another dance matter? Maybe I'll give the other boys a chance after I've had five or six, but I must have the last one."
"Oh, all right. I know I'm crazy but I don't care. I don't care a bit what anybody says. I'm so tired of sitting at home. I'm going to dance and dance--"
"And not wear black? I loathe funeral crepe."
"Oh, I couldn't take off mourning--Captain Butler, you must not hold me so tightly. I'll be mad at you if you do."
"And you look gorgeous when you are mad. I'll squeeze you again-- there--just to see if you will really get mad. You have no idea how charming you were that day at Twelve Oaks when you were mad and throwing things."
"Oh, please--won't you forget that?"
"No, it is one of my most priceless memories--a delicately nurtured Southern belle with her Irish up-- You are very Irish, you know."
"Oh, dear, there's the end of the music and there's Aunt Pittypat coming out of the back room. I know Mrs. Merriwether must have told her. Oh, for goodness' sakes, let's walk over and look out the window. I don't want her to catch me now. Her eyes are as big as saucers
To be continued
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