“It’s fun for men—though God knows why. I never could understand it. But all a woman gets out of it is something to eat and a lot of work and having to put up with a man’s foolishness—and a baby every year.”
He laughed so loudly that the sound echoed in the stillness and Scarlett heard the kitchen door open.
“Hush! Mammy has ears like a lynx and it isn’t decent to laugh so soon after—hush laughing. You know it’s true. Fun! Fiddle-dee-dee!”
“I said you’d had bad luck and what you’ve just said proves it. You’ve been married to a boy and to an old man. And into the bargain I’ll bet your mother told you that women must bear these things’ because of the compensating joys of motherhood. Well, that’s all wrong. Why not try marrying a fine young man who has a bad reputation and a way with women? It’ll be fun.”
“You are coarse and conceited and I think this conversation has gone far enough. It’s—it’s quite vulgar.”
“And quite enjoyable, too, isn’t it? I’ll wager you never discussed the marital relation with a man before, even Charles or Frank.”
She scowled at him. Rhett knew too much. She wondered where he had learned all he knew about women. It wasn’t decent“Don’t frown. Name the day, Scarlett. I’m not urging instant matrimony because of your reputation. We’ll wait the decent interval. By the way, just how long is a ‘decent interval’?”
“I haven’t said I’d marry you. It isn’t decent to even talk of such things at such a time.”
“I’ve told you why I’m talking of them. I’m going away tomorrow and I’m too ardent a lover to restrain my passion any longer. But perhaps I’ve been too precipitate in my wooing.”
With a suddenness that startled her, he slid off the sofa onto his knees and with one hand placed delicately over his heart, he recited rapidly:
“Forgive me for startling you with the impetuosity of my sentiments, my dear Scarlett—I mean, my dear Mrs. Kennedy. It cannot have escaped your notice that for some time past the friendship I have had in my heart for you has ripened into a deeper feeling, a feeling more beautiful, more pure, more sacred. Dare I name it you? Ah! It is love which makes me so bold!”
“Do get up,” she entreated. “You look such a fool and suppose Mammy should come in and see you?”
“She would be stunned and incredulous at the first signs of my gentility,” said Rhett, arising lightly. “Come, Scarlett, you are no child, no schoolgirl to put me off with foolish excuses about decency and so forth. Say you’ll marry me when I come back or, before God, I won’t go. I’ll stay around here and play a guitar under your window every night and sing at the top of my voice and compromise you, so you’ll have to marry me to save your reputation.”
“Rhett, do be sensible. I don’t want to marry anybody.”
“No? You aren’t telling me the real reason. It can’t be girlish timidity. What is it?”
Suddenly she thought of Ashley, saw him as vividly as though he stood beside her, sunny haired, drowsy eyed, full of dignity, so utterly different from Rhett. He was the real reason she did not want to marry again, although she had no objections to Rhett and at times was genuinely fond of him. She belonged to Ashley, forever and ever. She had never belonged to Charles or Frank, could never really belong to Rhett. Every part of her, almost everything she had ever done, striven after, attained, belonged to Ashley, were done because she loved him. Ashley and Tara, she belonged to them. The smiles, the laughter, the kisses she had given Charles and Frank were Ashley’s, even though he had never claimed them, would never claim them. Somewhere deep in her was the desire to keep herself for him, although she knew he would never take her.
She did not know that her face had changed, that reverie had brought a softness to her face which Rhett had never seen before. He looked at the slanting green eyes, wide and misty, and the tender curve of her lips and for a moment his breath stopped. Then his mouth went down violently at one corner and he swore with passionate impatience.
“Scarlett O’Hara, you’re a fool!”
Before she could withdraw her mind from its far places, his arms were around her, as sure and hard as on the dark road to Tara, so long ago. She felt again the rush of helplessness, the sinking yielding, the surging tide of warmth that left her limp. And the quiet face of Ashley Wilkes was blurred and drowned to nothingness. He bent back her head across his arm and kissed her, softly at first, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that made her cling to him as the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world. His insistent mouth was parting her shaking lips, sending wild tremors along her nerves, evoking from her sensations she had never known she was capable of feeling. And before a swimming giddiness spun her round and round, she knew that she was kissing him back.
“Stop—please, I’m faint!” she whispered, trying to turn her head weakly from him. He pressed her head back hard against his shoulder and she had a dizzy glimpse of his face. His eyes were wide and blazing queerly and the tremor in his arms frightened her.
“I want to make you faint. I will make you faint. You’ve had this coming to you for years. None of the fools you’ve known have kissed you like this—have they? Your precious Charles or Frank or your stupid Ashley—”
“Please—”
“I said your stupid Ashley. Gentlemen all—what do they know about women? What did they know about you? I know you.”
His mouth was on hers again and she surrendered without a struggle, too weak even to turn her head, without even the desire to turn it, her heart shaking her with its poundings, fear of his strength and her nerveless weakness sweeping her. What was he going to do? She would faint if he did not stop. If he would only stop—if he would never stop.
“Say Yes!” His mouth was poised above hers and his eyes were so close that they seemed enormous, filling the world. “Say Yes, damn you, or—”