The stage lost two great actors

“I regret having to tell a lady such a thing.” 　“Then it’s true!” thought Scarlett with an odd pang. Then he does live with that dreadful Watling creature! He does own her house!” 　“I saw Belle and explained to her. We gave her a list of the men who were out tonight and she and her girls will testify that they were all in her house tonight. Then to make our exit more conspicuous, she called the two desperadoes who keep order at her place and had us dragged downstairs, fighting, and through the barroom and thrown out into the street as brawling drunks who were disturbing the place.” 　He grinned reminiscently. “Dr. Meade did not make a very convincing drunk. It hurt his dignity to even be in such a place. But your Uncle Henry and old man Merriwether were excellent. The stage lost two great actors when they did not take up the drama. They seemed to enjoy the affair. I’m afraid your Uncle Henry has a black eye due to Mr. Merriwether’s zeal for his part. He—” 　The back door swung open and India entered, followed by old Dr. Dean, his long white hair tumbled, his worn leather bag bulging under his cape. He nodded briefly but without words to those present and quickly lifted the bandage from Ashley’s shoulder. 　Too high for the lung,” he said. “If it hasn’t splintered his collar bone it’s not so serious. Get me plenty of towels, ladies, and cotton if you have it, and some brandy.” 　Rhett took the lamp from Scarlett and set it on the table as Melanie and India sped about, obeying the doctor’s orders. 　“You can’t do anything here. Come into the parlor by the fire.” He took her arm and propelled her from the room. There was a gentleness foreign to him in both hand and voice. “You’ve had a rotten day, haven’t you?” 　She allowed herself to be led into the front room and though she stood on the hearth rug in front of the fire she began to shiver. The bubble of suspicion in her breast was swelling larger now. It was more than a suspicion. It was almost a certainty and a terrible certainty. She looked up into Rhett’s immobile face and for a moment she could not speak. Then: 　“Was Frank at—Belle Watling’s?” 　“No.” 　Rhett’s voice was blunt. 　“Archie’s carrying him to the vacant lot near Belle’s. He’s dead. Shot through the head.”