飘

　“Always　Ashley；”　he　said　and　was　silent　for　a　moment。
　“Scarlett；　when　you　are　forty…five；　perhaps　you　will　know　what　I’m　talking　about　and　then　perhaps　you；　too；　will　be　tired　of　imitation　gentry　and　shoddy　manners　and　cheap　emotions。　But　I　doubt　it。　I　think　you’ll　always　be　more　attracted　by　glister　than　by　gold。　Anyway；　I　can’t　wait　that　long　to　see。　And　I　have　no　desire　to　wait。　It　just　doesn’t　interest　me。　I’m　going　to　hunt　in　old　towns　and　old　countries　where　some　of　the　old　times　must　still　linger。　I’m　that　sentimental。　Atlanta’s　too　raw　for　me；　too　new。”
　“Stop；”　she　said　suddenly。　She　had　hardly　heard　anything　he　had　said。　Certainly　her　mind　had　not　taken　it　in。　But　she　knew　she　could　no　longer　endure　with　any　fortitude　the　sound　of　his　voice　when　there　was　no　love　in　it
　He　paused　and　looked　at　her　quizzically。
　“Well；　you　get　my　meaning；　don’t　you？”　he　questioned；　rising　to　his　feet。
　She　threw　out　her　hands　to　him；　palms　up；　in　the　age…old　gesture　of　appeal　and　her　heart；　again；　was　in　her　face。
　“No；”　she　cried。　“All　I　know　is　that　you　do　not　love　me　and　you　are　going　away！　Oh；　my　darling；　if　you　go；　what　shall　I　do？”
　For　a　moment　he　hesitated　as　if　debating　whether　a　kind　lie　were　kinder　in　the　long　run　than　the　truth。　Then　he　shrugged。
　“Scarlett；　I　was　never　one　to　patiently　pick　up　broken　fragments　and　glue　them　together　and　tell　myself　that　the　mended　whole　was　as　good　as　new。　What　is　broken　is　broken—and　I’d　rather　remember　it　as　it　was　at　its　best　than　mend　it　and　see　the　broken　places　as　long　as　I　lived。　Perhaps；　if　I　were　younger—”　he　sighed。　“But　I’m　too　old　to　believe　in　such　sentimentalities　as　clean　slates　and　starting　all　over。　I’m　too　old　to　shoulder　the　burden　of　constant　lies　that　go　with　living　in　polite　disillusionment。　I　couldn’t　live　with　you　and　lie　to　you　and　I　certainly　couldn’t　lie　to　myself。　I　can’t　even　lie　to　you　now。　I　wish　I　could　care　what　you　do　or　where　you　go；　but　I　can’t。”
　He　drew　a　short　breath　and　said　lightly　but　softly：
　“My　dear；　I　don’t　give　a　damn。”
　
　？
　She　silently　watched　him　go　up　the　stairs；　feeling　that　she　would　strangle　at　the　pain　in　her　throat。　With　the　sound　of　his　feet　dying　away　in　the　upper　hall　was　dying　the　last　thing　in　the　world　that　mattered。　She　knew　now　that　there　was　no　appeal　of　emotion　or　reason　which　would　turn　that　cool　brain　from　its　verdict。　She　knew　now　that　he　had　meant　every　word　he　said；　lightly　though　some　of　them　had　been　spoken。　She　knew　because　she　sensed　in　him　something　strong；　unyielding；　implacable—all　the　qualities　she　had　looked　for　in　Ashley　and　never　found。
　She　had　never　understood　either　of　the　men　she　had　loved　and　so　she　had　lost　them　both。　Now；　she　had　a　fumbling　knowledge　that；　had　she　ever　understood　Ashley；　she　would　never　have　loved　him；　had　she　ever　understood　Rhett；　she　would　never　have　lost　him。　She　wondered　forlornly　if　she　had　ever　really　understood　anyone　in　the　world。
　There　was　a　merciful　dullness　in　her　mind　now；　a　dullness　that　she　knew　from　long　experience　would　soon　give　way　to　sharp　pain；　even　as　severed　tissues；　shocked　by　the　surgeon’s　knife；　have　a　brief　instant　of　insensibility　before　their　agony　begins。
　“I　won’t　think　of　it　now；”　she　thought　grimly；　summoning　up　her　old　charm。　“I’ll　go　crazy　if　I　think　about　losing　him　now。　I’ll　think　of　it　tomorrow。”
　“But；”　cried　her　heart；　casting　aside　the　charm　and　beginning　to　ache；　“I　can’t　let　him　go！　There　must　be　some　way！”
　“I　won’t　think　of　it　now；”　she　said　again；　aloud；　trying　to　push　her　misery　to　the　back　of　her　mind；　trying　to　find　some　bulwark　against　the　rising　tide　of　pain。　“I’ll—why；　I’ll　go　home　to　Tara　tomorrow；”　and　her　spirits　lifted　faintly。
　She　had　gone　back　to　Tara　once　in　fear　and　defeat　and　she　had　emerged　from　its　sheltering　walls　strong　and　armed　for　victory。　What　she　had　done　once；　somehow—please　God；　she　could　do　again！　How；　she　did　not　know。　She　did　not　want　to　think　of　that　now。　All　she　wanted　was　a　breathing　space　in　which　to　hurt；　a　quiet　place　to　lick　her　wounds；　a　haven　in　which　to　plan　her　campaign。　She　thought　of　Tara　and　it　was　as　if　a　gentle　cool　hand　were　stealing　over　her　heart。　She　could　see　the　white　house　gleaming　welcome　to　her　through　the　reddening　autumn　leaves；　feel　the　quiet　hush　of　the　country　twilight　coming　down　over　her　like　a　benediction；　feel　the　dews　falling　on　the　acres　of　green　bushes　starred　with　fleecy　white；　see　the　raw　color　of　the　red　earth　and　the　dismal　dark　beauty　of　the　pines　on　the　rolling　hills。
　She　felt　vaguely　comforted；　strengthened　by　the　picture；　and　some　of　her　hurt　and　frantic　regret　was　pushed　from　the　top　of　her　mind。　She　stood　for　a　moment　remembering　small　things；　the　avenue　of　dark　cedars　leading　to　Tara；　the　banks　of　cape　jessamine　bushes；　vivid　green　against　the　white　walls；　the　fluttering　white　curtains。　And　Mammy　would　be　there。　Suddenly　she　wanted　Mammy　desperately；　as　she　had　wanted　her　when　she　was　a　little　girl；　wanted　the　broad　bosom　on　which　to　lay　her　head；　the　gnarled　black　hand　on　her　hair。　Mammy；　the　last　link　with　the　old　days。
　With　the　spirit　of　her　people　who　would　not　know　defeat；　even　when　it　stared　them　in　the　face；　she　raised　her　chin。　She　could　get　Rhett　back。　She　knew　she　could。　There　had　never　been　a　man　she　couldn’t　get；　once　she　set　her　mind　upon　him。
　“I’ll　think　of　it　all　tomorrow；　at　Tara。　I　can　stand　it　then。　Tomorrow；　I’ll　think　of　some　way　to　get　him　back。　After　all；　tomorrow　is　another　day。”
　
　
　THE　END
　
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