Damn that beard. She thought he was smiling, but she couldn’t really see his lips.

“I read the newspaper, too”, said Rhett. “Even in Charleston it’s news when an upstart country town like Atlanta decides to pretend that it’s New Orleans.”

New Orleans. He had taken her there for their honeymoon. Take me there again, she wanted to say, we’ll start over, and everything will be different. But she mustn’t say that. Not yet. Her mind leapt quickly from one memory to another. Narrow cobbled streets, tall shadowy rooms with great mirrors framed in dull gold, strange and marvelous foods . . .

“I’ll admit the refreshments aren’t as fancy,” she said grudgingly.

Rhett chuckled. “A powerful understatement.”

I’m making him laugh. I haven’t heard him laugh for ages . . . too long. He must have seen the men flocking to dance with me.

“How did you know it was me?” she said. “I have a mask on.”

“I only had to look for the most ostentatiously dressed woman, Scarlett. It was bound to be you.”

“Oh, you . . . you skunk.” She forgot that she was trying to amuse him. “You don’t look exactly handsome, Rhett Butler, with that foolish beard. Might as well stick a bearskin over your face.”

“It was the fullest disguise I could think of. There are a number of people in Atlanta that I’m not anxious to have recognize me too easily.”

“Then why did you come? Not just to insult me, I don’t suppose.”

“I promised you I’d make myself visible often enough to keep down gossip, Scarlett. This was a perfect occasion.”

“What good does a masked ball do? Nobody knows who anybody is.”

“At midnight the masks come off. That’s about four minutes from now. We’ll waltz to visibility, then leave.” Rhett took her in his arms, and Scarlett forgot her anger, forgot the peril of unmasking before her enemies, forgot the world. Nothing was important but that he was here and holding her.


Scarlett lay awake most of the night, struggling to understand what had happened. Everything was fine at the Ball . . . When twelve o’clock came, Dr. Meade said that everyone should take off their masks, and Rhett was laughing when he yanked off his beard, too. I’d take an oath he was enjoying himself. He kind of saluted the doctor and bowed to Mrs. Meade and then he whisked me out of there as easy as a greased pig. He didn’t even notice the way people turned their backs on me, at least he didn’t let on if he did. He was grinning from ear to ear.

And in the carriage coming home it was too dark to see his face but his voice sounded fine. I didn’t know what to say, but I hardly even had to think about it. He asked how things were at Tara and if his lawyer was paying my bills on time, and by the time I answered, we were home. That’s when it happened. He was here, right downstairs in the hallway. Then he just said good night, he was tired, and went up to his dressing room.

He wasn’t hateful or cold, he just said good night and went upstairs. What does that mean? Why did he bother to come all this way? Not just to go to a party when it’s party time in Charleston. Not because it was a masquerade—he could go to Mardi Gras if he wanted to. After all, he has lots of friends in New Orleans.

He said “to keep down gossip.” In a pig’s eye. He started it, if anything, snatching off that silly beard the way he did.

Her mind circled back, went over the evening again and again until her head ached. Her sleep, when it came, was brief and restless. Nevertheless, she woke in good time to go down to breakfast in her most becoming dressing gown. She’d have no tray brought to her room today. Rhett always had his breakfast in the dining room.

“Up so early, my dear?” he said. “How thoughtful of you. I won’t have to write a note of farewell.” He tossed his napkin onto the table. “I’ve packed some things Pork overlooked. I’ll be by for them later, on my way to the train.”

Don’t leave me, Scarlett’s heart begged. She looked away lest he see the pleading in her eyes. “For heaven’s sake finish your coffee, Rhett,” she said. “I’m not going to make a scene.” She went to the sideboard and poured herself some coffee, watching him in the mirror. She must be calm. Maybe then he’d stay.

He was standing, his watch open in his hand. “No time,” he said. “There are some people I have to see while I’m here. I’m going to be very busy until summer, so I’ll drop the word that I’m going to South America on business. No one will gossip about my absence for so long. Most people in Atlanta don’t even know where South America is. You see, my dear, I’m keeping my promise to preserve the purity of your reputation.” Rhett grinned malevolently, closed the watch and tucked it in its pocket. “Goodbye, Scarlett.”

“Why don’t you go on to South America and get lost there forever!”

When the door closed behind him, Scarlett’s hand reached for the decanter of brandy. Why had she carried on like that? That wasn’t how she felt at all. He’d always done that to her, goaded her into saying things she didn’t mean. She should have known better than to fly off the handle that way. But he shouldn’t have taunted me about my reputation. How could he have found out that I’m outcast?

She’d never been so unhappy in her whole life.

9

Later Scarlett was ashamed of herself. Drinking in the morning! Only low-life drunks did such a thing. Things weren’t so bad, really, she told herself. At least she knew now when Rhett would be coming back. It was much too far in the future, but it was definite. Now she wouldn’t waste time wondering if today might be the day . . . or tomorrow . . . or the day after that.

February opened with a surprising warm spell that called forth premature leaves on trees and filled the air with the scent of waking earth. “Open all the windows,” Scarlett told the servants, “and let the mustiness out.” The breeze lifting the loose tendrils of hair at her temples was delicious. Suddenly she was gripped by a terrible longing for Tara. She’d be able to sleep there with the spring-laden wind, bringing the smell of the warming earth into her bedroom.

But I can’t go. Colleton will be able to start at least three more houses once this weather gets the frost out of the ground, but he’ll never do it unless I nag him into it. I’ve never known such a picky man in all my life. Everything has to be just so. He’ll wait till the ground’s warm enough to dig to China and find no frost.

Suppose she went for just a few days? A few days wouldn’t make that much difference, would it? Scarlett remembered Ashley’s pallor and dejected slump at the Carnival Ball, and she made a small sound of disappointment.

She wouldn’t be able to relax at Tara if she did go.

She sent Pansy with a message to Elias to bring the carriage around. She had to go find Joe Colleton.


That evening, as if to reward her for doing her duty, the doorbell sounded just after darkness fell. “Scarlett, honey,” Tony Fontaine called out when the butler let him in, “an old friend needs a room for the night, will you be merciful?”

“Tony!” Scarlett ran from the sitting room to embrace him.

He dropped his luggage, caught her in his arms for a hug. “Great God Almighty, Scarlett, you’ve done real well for yourself,” he said. “I thought some fool had given me directions to a hotel when I saw this big place.” He looked at the ornate chandelier, flocked velvet wallpaper, and massive gilt mirrors in the entrance hall, then grinned at her. “No wonder you married that Charlestonian instead of waiting for me. Where is Rhett? I’d like to meet the man who got my girl.”

Cold fingers of fear traced Scarlett’s spine. Had Suellen told the Fontaines anything? “Rhett’s in South America,” she said brightly, “can you imagine such a thing? Gracious peace, I thought missionaries were the only people who ever went to such an outlandish place!”

Tony laughed. “Me, too. I’m sorry to miss seeing him, but it’s good luck for me. I’ll have you all to myself. How about a drink for a thirsty man?”

He didn’t know Rhett had left, she was sure of it. “I think a visit from you calls for champagne.”

Tony said he’d welcome champagne later, but for now he wanted a good old bourbon whiskey and a bath. He could still smell cow manure on himself, he was sure.

Scarlett fixed his drink herself, then sent him upstairs with the butler as his guide to one of the extra bedrooms for guests. Thank heaven the servants lived in the house; there’d be no scandal about Tony staying as long as he liked. And she’d have a friend to talk to.

They had champagne with their supper, and Scarlett wore her pearls. Tony ate four big pieces of the chocolate cake that the cook had hurriedly made for dessert.

“Tell them to wrap up whatever’s left for me to take with me,” he begged. “The only thing I get hankerings for is cake with thick icing like that. I always did have a sweet tooth.”

Scarlett laughed and sent the message to the kitchen. “Are you telling tales on Sally, Tony? Can’t she do fancy cooking?”

“Sally? Whatever gave you that idea? She fixed a bang-up dessert every night, just for me. Alex don’t have my weakness, so she can stop now.”

Scarlett looked puzzled.

“You mean you didn’t know?” said Tony. “I figured Suellen would have put it in a letter. I’m going back to Texas, Scarlett. I made up my mind ’round about Christmas.”

They talked for hours. At first she begged him to stay, until Tony’s awkward embarrassment changed into the famous Fontaine temper. “Dammit, Scarlett, be quiet! I tried, God knows I tried, but I can’t stick it. So you’d better quit nagging me.” His loud voice made the prisms on the chandelier sway and tinkle.