A hot swift current was running through her

“You must not say these things, Scarlett! You mustn’t. You don’t mean them. You’ll hate yourself for saying them, and you’ll hate me for hearing them!” 　She jerked her head away. A hot swift current was running through her. 　“I couldn’t ever hate you. I tell you I love you and I know you must care about me because—” She stopped. Never before had she seen so much misery in anyone’s face. “Ashley, do you care—you do, don’t you?” 　“Yes,” he said dully. “I care.” 　If he had said he loathed her, she could not have been more frightened. She plucked at his sleeve, speechless. 　“Scarlett,” he said, “can’t we go away and forget that we have ever said these things?” 　“No,” she whispered. “I can’t. What do you mean? Don’t you want to—to marry me?” 　He replied, I’m going to marry Melanie.” 　Somehow she found that she was sitting on the low velvet chair and Ashley, on the hassock at her feet, was holding both her hands in his, in a hard grip. He was saying things—things that made no sense. Her mind was quite blank, quite empty of all the thoughts that had surged through it only a moment before, and his words made no more impression than rain on glass. They fell on unhearing ears, words that were swift and tender and full of pity, like a father speaking to a hurt child. 　The sound of Melanie’s name caught in her consciousness and she looked into his crystal-gray eyes. She saw in them the old remoteness that had always baffled her—and a look of self-hatred. 　“Father is to announce the engagement tonight. We are to be married soon. I should have told you, but I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew—had known for years. I never dreamed that you— You’ve so many beaux. I thought Stuart—” 　Life and feeling and comprehension were beginning to flow back into her. 　“But you just said you cared for me.” 　His warm hands hurt hers. 　“My dear, must you make me say things that will hurt you?” 　Her silence pressed him on. 　“How can I make you see these things, my dear. You who are so young and unthinking that you do not know what marriage means.” 　“I know I love you.” 　“Love isn’t enough to make a successful marriage when two people are as different as we are. You would want all of a man, Scarlett, his body, his heart, his soul, his thoughts. And if you did not have them, you would be miserable. And I couldn’t give you all of me. I couldn’t give all of me to anyone. And I would not want an of your mind and your soul. And you would be hurt, and then you would come to hate me—how bitterly! You would hate the books I read and the music I loved, because they took me away from you even for a moment And I—perhaps I—”