"Chile, Ah din' know but Ah din' lak de look on yo' face yestiddy. An' Ah 'membered
Miss Pittypat writin' Miss Melly dat dat rapscallion Butler man had lots of money an' Ah doan fergit what Ah hears. But Mist' Frank, he a gempmum even ef he ain' so pretty."
Scarlett gave her a sharp look and Mammy returned the gaze with calm omniscience.
"Well, what are you going to do about it? Tattle to Suellen?"
"Ah is gwine ter he'p you pleasure Mist' Frank eve'y way Ah knows how," said Mammy, tucking the covers about Scarlett's neck.
Scarlett lay quietly for a while, as Mammy fussed about the room, relief flooding her that there was no need for words between them. No explanations were asked, no reproaches made.
Mammy understood and was silent. In Mammy, Scarlett had found a realist more
uncompromising than herself. The mottled wise old eyes saw deeply, saw clearly, with the
directness of the savage and the child, undeterred by conscience when danger threatened her pet.
Scarlett was her baby and what her baby wanted, even though it belonged to another, Mammy
was willing to help her obtain. The rights of Suellen and Frank Kennedy did not even enter her mind, save to cause a grim inward chuckle. Scarlett was in trouble and doing the best she could, and Scarlett was Miss Ellen's child. Mammy rallied to her with never a moment's hesitation.
Scarlett felt the silent reinforcement and, as the hot brick at her feet warmed her, the hope which had flickered faintly on the cold ride home grew into a flame. It swept through her, making her heart pump the blood through her veins in pounding surges. Strength was coming back and a reckless excitement which made her want to laugh aloud. Not beaten yet, she thought exultantly.
"Hand me the mirror, Mammy," she said.
"Keep yo' shoulders unner dat kivver," ordered Mammy, passing the hand mirror to her, a smile on her thick lips.
Scarlett looked at herself.
"I look white as a hant," she said, "and my hair is as wild as a horse's tail."
"You doan look peart as you mout."
"Hum… Is it raining very hard?"
"You know it's po'in'."
"Well, just the same, you've got to go downtown for me."
"Not in dis rain, Ah ain'."
"Yes, you are or I'll go myself."
"What you got ter do dat woan wait? Look ter me lak you done nuff fer one day."
"I want," said Scarlett, surveying herself carefully in the mirror, "a bottle of cologne water. You can wash my hair and rinse it with cologne. And buy me a jar of quince-seed jelly to make it lie down flat."
"Ah ain' gwine wash yo' ha'r in dis wedder an' you ain' gwine put no cologne on yo' haid lak a fas' woman needer. Not w'ile Ah got breaf in mah body."
"Oh, yes, I am. Look in my purse and get that five-dollar gold piece out and go to town.
And--er, Mammy, while you are downtown, you might get me a--a pot of rouge."
"Whut dat?" asked Mammy suspiciously.
Scarlett met her eyes with a coldness she was far from feeling. There was never any way
of knowing just how far Mammy could be bullied.
"Never you mind. Just ask for it."
"Ah ain' buyin nuthin' dat Ah doan know whut 'tis."
"Well, it's paint, if you're so curious! Face paint. Don't stand there and swell up like a toad. Go on."
"Paint!" ejaculated Mammy. "Face paint! Well, you ain' so big dat Ah kain whup you! Ah ain' never been so scan'lized! You is los' yo' mine! Miss Ellen be tuhnin' in her grabe dis minute!
Paintin' yo face lak a--"
"You know very well Grandma Robillard painted her face and--"
"Yas'm, an' wo' only one petticoat an' it wrang out wid water ter mek it stick an' show de shape of her laigs, but dat ain' sayin' you is gwine do sumpin' lak dat! Times wuz scan'lous w'en Ole Miss wuz young but times changes, dey do an'--"
"Name of God!" cried Scarlett, losing her temper and throwing back the covers. "You can go straight back to Tara!"
"You kain sen' me ter Tara ness Ah wants ter go. Ah is free," said Mammy heatedly. "An'
Ah is gwine ter stay right hyah. Git back in dat baid. Does you want ter ketch pneumony jes'
now? Put down dem stays! Put dem down, honey. Now, Miss Scarlett, you ain' gwine nowhars in dis wedder. Lawd God! But you sho look lak yo' pa! Git back in baid--Ah kain go buyin' no
paint! Ah die of shame, eve'ybody knowin 'it wud fer mah chile! Miss Scarlett, you is so sweet an' pretty lookin' you doan need no paint. Honey, doan nobody but bad womens use dat stuff."