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Scarlett vaguely remembered two ladies of those names who came from Atlanta to Tara to attend her wedding and she remembered that they were Miss Pittypat’s best friends。 So she turned quickly where Uncle Peter pointed and bowed。 The two were sitting in a carriage outside a drygoods store。 The proprietor and two clerks stood on the sidewalk with armfuls of bolts of cotton cloth they had been displaying。 Mrs。 Merriwether was a tall； stout woman and so tightly corseted that her bust jutted forward like the prow of a ship。 Her iron…gray hair was eked out by a curled false fringe that was proudly brown and disdained to match the rest of her hair。 She had a round； highly colored face in which was combined good…natured shrewdness and the habit of command。 Mrs。 Elsing was younger； a thin frail woman； who had been a beauty； and about her there still clung a faded freshness； a dainty imperious air。
These two ladies with a third； Mrs。 Whiting； were the pillars of Atlanta。 They ran the three churches to which they belonged； the clergy； the choirs and the parishioners。 They organized bazaars and presided over sewing circles； they chaperoned balls and picnics； they knew who made good matches and who did not； who drank secretly； who were to have babies and when。 They were authorities on the genealogies of everyone who was anyone in Georgia； South Carolina and Virginia and did not bother their heads about the other states； because they believed that no one who was anybody ever came from states other than these three。 They knew what was decorous behavior and what was not and they never failed to make their opinions known—Mrs。 Merriwether at the top of her voice； Mrs。 Elsing in an elegant die…away drawl and Mrs。 Whiting in a distressed whisper which showed how much she hated to speak of such things。 These three ladies disliked and distrusted one another as heartily as the First Triumvirate of Rome； and their close alliance was probably for the same reason。
“I told Pitty I had to have you in my hospital；” called Mrs。 Merriwether； smiling。 “Don’t you go promising Mrs。 Meade or Mrs。 Whiting！”
“I won’t；” said Scarlett； having no idea what Mrs。 Merriwether was talking about but feeling a glow of warmth at being welcomed and wanted。 “I hope to see you again soon。”
The carriage plowed its way farther and halted for a moment to permit two ladies with baskets of bandages on their arms to pick precarious passages across the sloppy street on stepping stones。 At the same moment； Scarlett’s eye was caught by a figure on the sidewalk in a brightly colored dress—too bright for street wear—covered by a Paisley shawl with fringes to the heels。 Turning she saw a tall handsome woman with a bold face and a mass of red hair； too red to be true。 It was the first time she had ever seen any woman who she knew for certain had “done something to her hair” and she watched her； fascinated。
“Uncle Peter； who is that？” she whispered。
“Ah doan know。”
“You do； too。 I can tell。 Who is she？”
“Her name Belle Watling；” said Uncle Peter； his lower lip beginning to protrude。
Scarlett was quick to catch the fact that he had not preceded the name with “Miss” or “Mrs。”
“Who is she？”
“Miss Scarlett；” said Peter darkly； laying the whip on the startled horse； “Miss Pitty ain gwine ter lak it you astin’ questions dat ain’ none of yo’ bizness。 Day’s a passel of no…count folks in dis town now dat it ain’ no use talkin’ about。”
“Good Heavens！” thought Scarlett； reproved into silence。 That must be a bad woman！”
She had never seen a bad woman before and she twisted her head and stared after her until she was lost in the crowd。
The stores and the new war buildings were farther apart now； with vacant lots between。 Finally the business section fell behind and the residences came into view。 Scarlett picked them out as old friends； the Leyden house； dignified and stately； the Bonnells’； with little white columns and green； blinds； the close…lipped red…brick Georgian home of the McLure family； behind its low box hedges。 Their progress was slower now； for from porches and gardens and sidewalks ladies called to her。 Some she knew slightly； others she vaguely remembered； but most of them she knew not at all。 Pittypat had certainly broadcast her arrival。 Little Wade had to be held up time and again； so that ladies who ventured as far through the ooze as their carriage blocks could exclaim over him。 They all cried to her that she must join their knitting and sewing circles and their hospital committees； and no one else’s； and she promised recklessly to right and left。
As they passed a rambling green clapboard house； a little black girl posted on the front steps cried； “Hyah she come；” and Dr。 Meade and his wife and little thirteen…year…old Phil emerged； calling greetings。 Scarlett recalled that they too had been at her wedding。 Mrs。 Meade mounted her carriage block and craned her neck for a view of the baby； but the doctor； disregarding the mud； plowed through to the side of the carriage。 He was tall and gaunt and wore a pointed beard of iron gray； and his clothes hung on his spare figure as though blown there by a hurricane。 Atlanta considered him the root of all strength and all wisdom and it was not strange that he had absorbed something of their belief。 But for all his habit of making oracular statements and his slightly pompous manner； he was as kindly a man as the town possessed。
After shaking her hand and prodding Wade in the stomach and complimenting him； the doctor announced that Aunt Pittypat had promised on oath that Scarlett should be on no other hospital and bandage…rolling committee save Mrs。 Meade’s。
“Oh； dear； but I’ve promised a thousand ladies already！” said Scarlett。
“Mrs。 Merriwether。 I’ll be bound！” cried Mrs。 Meade indignantly。 “Drat the woman！ I believe she meets every train！”
“I promised because I hadn’t a notion what it was all about；” Scarlett confessed。 “What are hospital committees anyway？”
Both the doctor and his wife looked slightly shocked at her ignorance。
“But； of course； you’ve been buried in the country and couldn’t know；” Mrs。 Meade apologized for her。 “We have nursing committees for different hospitals and for different days。 We nurse the men and help the doctors and make bandages and clothes and when the men are well enough to leave the hospitals we take them into our homes to convalesce till they are able to go back in the army。 And we look after the wives and families of some of the wounded who are destitute—yes； worse than destitute。 Dr。 Meade is at the Institute hospital where my committee works； and everyone says he’s marvelous and—”
“There； there； Mrs。 Meade；” said the doctor fondly。 “Don’t go bragging on me in front of folks。 It’s little enough I can do； since you wouldn’t let me go in the army。”
“ ‘Wouldn’t let！’ ” she cried indignantly。 “Me？ The town wouldn’t let you and you know it。 Why； Scarlett； when folks heard he was intending to go to Virginia as an army surgeon； all the ladies signed a petition begging him to stay here。 Of course； the town couldn’t do without you。”
There； there； Mrs。 Meade；” said