e was or spoke in respectful tones of Charles and how great a loss to Atlanta his death had been。
Then the music broke into the rollicking strains of “Johnny Booker； he’p dis Nigger！” and Scarlett thought she would scream。 She wanted to dance。 She wanted to dance。 She looked across the floor and tapped her foot to the music and her green eyes blazed so eagerly that they fairly snapped。 All the way across the floor； a man； newly come and standing in the doorway； saw them； started in recognition and watched closely the slanting eyes in the sulky； rebellious face。 Then he grinned to himself as he recognized the invitation that any male could read。
He was dressed in black broadcloth； a tall man； towering over the officers who stood near him； bulky in the shoulders but tapering to a small waist and absurdly small feet in varnished boots。 His severe black suit； with fine ruffled shirt and trousers smartly strapped beneath high insteps； was oddly at variance with his physique and face； for he was foppishly groomed； the clothes of a dandy on a body that was powerful and latently dangerous in its lazy grace。 His hair was jet black； and his black mustache was small and closely clipped； almost foreign looking compared with the dashing； swooping mustaches of the cavalrymen near by。 He looked； and was； a man of lusty and unashamed appetites。 He had an air of utter assurance； of displeasing insolence about him； and there was a twinkle of malice in his bold eyes as he stared at Scarlett； until finally； feeling his gaze； she looked toward him。
Somewhere in her mind； the bell of recognition rang； but for the moment she could not recall who he was。 But he was the first man in months who had displayed an interest in her； and she threw him a gay smile。 She made a little curtsy as he bowed； and then； as he straightened and started toward her with a peculiarly lithe Indian…like gait； her hand went to her mouth in horror； for she knew who he was。
Thunderstruck； she stood as if paralyzed while he made his way through the crowd。 Then she turned blindly； bent on flight into the refreshment rooms； but her skirt caught on a nail of the booth。 She jerked furiously at it； tearing it and； in an instant； he was beside her。
“Permit me；” he Said bending over and disentangling the flounce。 “I hardly hoped that you would recall me； Miss O’Hara。”
His voice was oddly pleasant to the ear； the well…modulated voice of a gentleman； resonant and overlaid with the flat slow drawl of the Charlestonian。
She looked up at him imploringly； her face crimson with the shame of their last meeting； and met two of the blackest eyes she had ever seen； dancing in merciless merriment。 Of all the people in the world to turn up here； this terrible person who had witnessed that scene with Ashley which still gave her nightmares； this odious wretch who ruined girls and was not received by nice people； this despicable man who had said； and with good cause； that she was not a lady。
At the sound of his voice； Melanie turned and for the first time in her life Scarlett thanked God for the existence of her sister…in…law。
“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 crêpe 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 clutch the very chains that bind them！ You think the Hin