The memory of her humiliation at his hands made her go crimson with shame.
“ I don’t see how you have the gall to face me!” she cried.
“ On the contrary! How have you the gall to face me?”
“ Oh, you are the most —”
“ Shall we let the bugles sing truce?” he smiled down at her, a wide flashing smile that had impudence in it but no shame for his own actions or condemnation for hers. In spite of herself, she had to smile too, but it was a wry, uncomfortable smile.
“ What a pity they didn’t hang you!”
“ Others share your feeling, I fear. Come, Scarlett, relax. You look like you’d swallowed a ramrod and it isn’t becoming. Surely, you’ve had time to recover from my — er — my little joke.”
“ Joke? Ha! I’ll never get over it!”
“ Oh, yes, you will. You are just putting on this indign
