She recklessly bought gifts for the family. A furry St. Bernard puppy for Wade, who had always longed for one, a Persian kitten for Beau, a coral bracelet for little Ella, a heavy necklace with moonstone pendants for Aunt Pitty, a complete set of Shakespeare for Melanie and Ashley, an elaborate livery for Uncle Peter, including a high silk coachman’s hat with a brush upon it, dress lengths for Dilcey and Cookie, expensive gifts for everyone at Tara.
“But what have you bought for Mammy?” questioned Rhett, looking over the pile of gifts spread out on the bed in their hotel room, and removing the puppy and kitten to the dressing room.
“Not a thing. She was hateful. Why should I bring her a present when she called us mules?”
“Why should you so resent hearing the truth, my pet? You must bring Mammy a present. It would break her heart if you didn’t – and hearts like hers are too valuable to be broken.”
“I won’t take her a thing. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Then I’ll buy her one. I remember my mammy always said that when she went to Heaven she wanted a taffeta petticoat so stiff that it would stand by itself and so rustly that the Lord God would think it was made of angels’ wings. I’ll buy Mammy some red taffeta and have an elegant petticoat made.”
“She won’t take it from you. She’d die rather than wear it.”
“I don’t doubt it. But I’ll make the gesture just the same.”
The shops of New Orleans were so rich and exciting and shopping with Rhett was an adventure. Dining with him was an adventure too, and one more thrilling than shopping, for he knew what to order and how it should be cooked. The wines and liqueurs and champagnes of New Orleans were new and exhilarating to her, acquainted with only homemade blackberry and scuppernong vintages and Aunt Pitty’s “swoon” brandy; but oh, the food Rhett ordered! Best of all things in New Orleans was the food. Remembering the bitter hungry days at Tara and her more recent penury, Scarlett felt that she could never eat enough of these rich dishes. Gumboes and shrimp Creole, doves in wine and oysters in crumbly patties full of creamy sauce, mushrooms and sweetbreads and turkey livers, fish baked cunningly in oiled paper and limes. Her appetite never dulled, for whenever she remembered the everlasting goobers and dried peas and sweet potatoes at Tara, she felt an urge to gorge [gorge〈v.〉狼吞虎咽地吃] herself anew on Creole dishes.
“You eat as though each meal were your last,” said Rhett. “Don’t scrape the plate, Scarlett. I’m sure there’s more in the kitchen. You have only to ask the waiter. If you don’t stop being such a glutton, you’ll be as fat as the Cuban ladies and then I shall divorce you.”
But she only put out her tongue at him and ordered another pastry, thick with chocolate and stuffed with meringue [meringue〈n.〉調合蛋白（蛋白拌糖打硬後置於蛋糕上）].
What fun it was to be able to spend as much money as you liked and not count pennies and feel that you should save them to pay taxes or buy mules. What fun to be with people who were gay and rich and not genteelly poor like Atlanta people. What fun to wear rustling brocade dresses that showed your waist and all your neck and arms and more than a little of your breast and know that men were admiring you. And what fun to eat all you wanted without having censorious people say you weren’t ladylike. And what fun to drink all the champagne you pleased. The first time she drank too much, she was embarrassed when she awoke the next morning with a splitting headache and an awful memory of singing “Bonnie Blue Flag” all the way back to the hotel, through the streets of New Orleans, in an open carriage. She had never seen a lady even tipsy, and the only drunken woman she had ever seen had been that Watling creature on the day when Atlanta fell. She hardly knew how to face Rhett, so great was her humiliation, but the affair seemed only to amuse him. Everything she did seemed to amuse him, as though she were a gamboling kitten.