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Chapter 40

           Tarletonwenttowardthekitchen,throwingherhatcarelesslyonthesideboardandrunningherhandsthroughherdampredhair.

           Scarlettlaybackinherchairandunbuttonedthetwotopbuttonsofhertightbasque.Itwascoolanddiminthehigh-ceilingedhallandthevagrantdraftthatwentfrombacktofrontofthehousewasrefreshingaftertheheatofthesun.ShelookedacrossthehallintotheparlorwhereGeraldhadlainand,wrenchingherthoughtsfromhim,lookedupattheportraitofGrandmaRobillardhangingabovethefireplace.Thebayonet-scarredportraitwithitshigh-piledhair,hall-exposedbreastsandcoolinsolencehad,asalways,atoniceffectuponher.

           "Idon’tknowwhichhitBeetriceTarletonworse,losingherboysorherhorses,"saidGrandmaFontaine."SheneverdidpaymuchmindtoJimorhergirls,youknow.She’soneofthosefolksWillwastalkingabout.Hermainspring’sbusted.SometimesIwonderifshewon’tgothewayyourpawent.Shewasn’teverhappyunlesshorsesorhumanswerebreedingrightinherfaceandnoneofhergirlsaremarriedorgotanyprospectsofcatchinghusbandsinthiscounty,soshe’sgotnothingtooccupyhermind.Ifshewasn’tsuchladyatheart,she’dbedownrightcommon....WasWilltellingthetruthaboutmarryingSuellen?"

           "Yes,"saidScarlett,lookingtheoldladyfullintheeye.

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