The Fountainhead by Rand, Ayn

“Yes…probably…”

“No,” said Keating dully, “no, it wasn’t that….” He was thinking of the loud-speaker in the lobby of the strike meeting. Then he added quickly: “Yes, Mother’s right. You’re killing yourself with work, Katie. That uncle of yours–I’ll wring his neck one of these days.”

“Oh, but it’s not his fault! He doesn’t want me to work. He often takes the books away from me and tells me to go to the movies. He’s said that himself, that I work too hard. But I like it. I think that every note I make, every little bit of information–it’s going to be taught to hundreds of young students, all over the country, and I think it’s me who’s helping to educate people, just my own little bit in such a big cause–and I feel proud and I don’t want to stop. You see? I’ve really got nothing to complain about. And then…then, like tonight…I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

“Look, Katie, we’ll get the license tomorrow morning and then we’ll be married at once, anywhere you wish.”

“Let’s, Peter,” she whispered. “You really don’t mind? I have no real reasons, but I want it. I want it so much. Then I’ll know that everything’s all right. We’ll manage. I can get a job if you…if you’re not quite ready or…”

“Oh, nonsense. Don’t talk about that. We’ll manage. It doesn’t matter. Only let’s get married and everything else will take care of itself.”

“Darling, you understand? You do understand?”

“Yes, Katie.”

“Now that it’s all settled,” said Mrs. Keating, “I’ll fix you a cup of hot tea, Catherine. You’ll need it before you go home.” She prepared the tea, and Catherine drank it gratefully and said, smiling:

“I…I’ve often been afraid that you wouldn’t approve, Mrs. Keating.”

“Whatever gave you that idea,” Mrs. Keating drawled, her voice not in the tone of a question. “Now you run on home like a good girl and get a good night’s sleep.”

“Mother, couldn’t Katie stay here tonight? She could sleep with you.”

“Well, now, Peter, don’t get hysterical. What would her uncle think?”

“Oh, no, of course not. I’ll be perfectly all right, Peter. I’ll go home.”

“Not if you…”

“I’m not afraid. Not now. I’m fine. You don’t think that I’m really scared of Uncle Ellsworth?”

“Well, all right. But don’t go yet.”

“Now, Peter,” said Mrs. Keating, “you don’t want her to be running around the streets later than she has to.”

“I’ll take her home.”

“No,” said Catherine. “I don’t want to be sillier than I am. No, I won’t let you.”

He kissed her at the door and he said: “I’ll come for you at ten o’clock tomorrow morning and we’ll go for the license.”

“Yes, Peter,” she whispered.

He closed the door after her and he stood for a moment, not noticing that he was clenching his fists. Then he walked defiantly back to the living room, and he stopped, his hands in his pockets, facing his mother. He looked at her, his glance a silent demand. Mrs. Keating sat looking at him quietly, without pretending to ignore the glance and without answering it.

Then she asked:

“Do you want to go to bed, Peter?”

He had expected anything but that. He felt a violent impulse to seize the chance, to turn, leave the room and escape. But he had to learn what she thought; he had to justify himself.

“Now, Mother, I’m not going to listen to any objections.”

“I’ve made no objections,” said Mrs. Keating.

“Mother, I want you to understand that I love Katie, that nothing can stop me now, and that’s that.”

“Very well, Peter.”

“I don’t see what it is that you dislike about her.”

“What I like or dislike is of no importance to you any more.”

“Oh yes, Mother, of course it is! You know it is. How can you say that?”

“Peter, I have no likes or dislikes as far as I’m concerned. I have no thought for myself at all, because nothing in the world matters to me, except you. It might be old-fashioned, but that’s the way I am. I know I shouldn’t be, because children don’t appreciate it nowadays, but I can’t help it.”

“Oh, Mother, you know that I appreciate it! You know that I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t hurt me, Peter, except by hurting yourself. And that…that’s hard to bear.”

“How am I hurting myself?”

“Well, if you won’t refuse to listen to me…”

“I’ve never refused to listen to you!”

“If you do want to hear my opinion, I’ll say that this is the funeral of twenty-nine years of my life, of all the hopes I’ve had for you.”

“But why? Why?”

“It’s not that I dislike, Catherine, Peter. I like her very much. She’s a nice girl–if she doesn’t let herself go to pieces often and pick things out of thin air like that. But she’s a respectable girl and I’d say she’d make a good wife for anybody. For any nice, plodding, respectable boy. But to think of it for you, Peter! For you!”

“But…”

“You’re modest, Peter. You’re too modest. That’s always been your trouble. You don’t appreciate yourself. You think you’re just like anybody else.”

“I certainly don’t! and I won’t have anyone think that!”

“Then use your head! Don’t you know what’s ahead of you? Don’t you see how far you’ve come already and how far you’re going? You have a chance to become–well, not the very best, but pretty near the top in the architectural profession, and…”

“Pretty near the top? Is that what you think? If I can’t be the very best, if I can’t be the one architect of this country in my day–I don’t want any damn part of it!”

“Ah, but one doesn’t get to that, Peter, by falling down on the job. One doesn’t get to be first in anything without the strength to make some sacrifices.”

“But…”

“Your life doesn’t belong to you, Peter, if you’re really aiming high. You can’t allow yourself to indulge every whim, as ordinary people can, because with them it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not you or me or what we feel. Peter. It’s your career. It takes strength to deny yourself in order to win other people’s respect.”

“You just dislike Katie and you let your own prejudice…”

“Whatever would I dislike about her? Well, of course, I can’t say that I approve of a girl who has so little consideration for her man that she’ll run to him and upset him over nothing at all, and ask him to chuck his future out the window just because she gets some crazy notion. That shows what help you can expect from a wife like that. But as far as I’m concerned, if you think that I’m worried about myself–well, you’re just blind, Peter. Don’t you see that for me personally it would be a perfect match? Because I’d have no trouble with Catherine, I could get along with her beautifully, she’d be respectful and obedient to her mother-in-law. While, on the other hand, Miss Francon…”

He winced. He had known that this would come. It was the one subject he had been afraid to hear mentioned.

“Oh yes, Peter,” said Mrs. Keating quietly, firmly, “we’ve got to speak of that. Now, I’m sure I could never manage Miss Francon, and an elegant society girl like that wouldn’t even stand for a dowdy, uneducated mother like me. She’d probably edge me out of the house. Oh, yes, Peter. But you see, it’s not me that I’m thinking of.”

“Mother,” he said harshly, “that part of it is pure drivel–about my having a chance with Dominique. That hell-cat–I’m not sure she’d ever look at me.”

“You’re slipping, Peter. There was a time when you wouldn’t have admitted that there was anything you couldn’t get.”

“But I don’t want her, Mother.”

“Oh, you don’t, don’t you? Well, there you are. Isn’t that what I’ve been saying? Look at yourself! There you’ve got Francon, the best architect in town, just where you want him! He’s practically begging you to take a partnership–at your age, over how many other, older men’s heads? He’s not permitting, he’s asking you to marry his daughter! And you’ll walk in tomorrow and you’ll present to him the little nobody you’ve gone and married! Just stop thinking of yourself for a moment and think of others a bit. How do you suppose he’ll like that? How will he like it when you show him the little guttersnipe that you’ve preferred to his daughter?”

“He won’t like it,” Keating whispered.

“You bet your life he won’t! You bet your life he’ll kick you right out on the street! He’ll find plenty who’ll jump at the chance to take your place. How about that Bennett fellow?”

“Oh, no!” Keating gasped so furiously that she knew she had struck right. “Not Bennett!”

“Yes,” she said triumphantly. “Bennett! That’s what it’ll be–Francon & Bennett, while you’ll be pounding the pavements looking for a job! But you’ll have a wife! Oh, yes, you’ll have a wife!”

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