第 29 页

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.

129

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..."

130

"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

131

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!"

"Mother, please..." he whispered, so desperately that she could allow herself to

go on without restraint.

"This is the kind of a wife you’ll have. A clumsy little girl who won’t know

where to put her hands or feet. A sheepish little thing who’ll run and hide from

any important person that you’ll want to bring to the house. So you think you’re

so good? Don’t kid yourself, Peter Keating! No great man ever got there alone.

Don’t you shrug it off, how much the right woman’s helped the best of them. Your

Francon didn’t marry a chambermaid, you bet your life he didn’t! Just try to see

things through other people’s eyes for a bit. What will they think of your wife?

What will they think of you? You don’t make your living building chicken coops

for soda jerkers, don’t you forget that! You’ve got to play the game as the big

men of this world see it. You’ve got to live up to them. What will they think of

a man who’s married to a common little piece of baggage like that? Will they

admire you? Will they trust you? Will they respect you?"

"Shut up!" he cried.

But she went on. She spoke for a long time, while he sat, cracking his knuckles

savagely, moaning once in a while: "But I love her....I can’t, Mother! I

can’t....I love her...."

She released him when the streets outside were gray with the light of morning.

She let him stumble off to his room, to the accompaniment of the last, gentle,

weary sounds of her voice:

"At least, Peter, you can do that much. Just a few months. Ask her to wait just

a few months. Heyer might die any moment and then, once you’re a partner, you

can marry her and you might get away with it. She won’t mind waiting just that

little bit longer, if she loves you....Think it over, Peter....And while you’re

thinking it over, think just a bit that if you do this now, you’ll be breaking

your mother’s heart. It’s not important, but take just a tiny notice of that.

Think of yourself for an hour, but give one minute to the thought of others...."

He did not try to sleep. He did not undress, but sat on his bed for hours, and

the thing clearest in his mind was the wish to find himself transported a year

ahead when everything would have been settled, he did not care how.

He had decided nothing when he rang the doorbell of Catherine’s apartment at ten

o’clock. He felt dimly that she would take his hand, that she would lead him,

132

that she would insist--and thus the decision would be made.

Catherine opened the door and smiled, happily and confidently, as if nothing had

happened. She led him to her room, where broad shafts of sunlight flooded the

columns of books and papers stacked neatly on her desk. The room was clean,

orderly, the pile of the rug still striped in bands left by a carpet sweeper.

Catherine wore a crisp organdy blouse, with sleeves standing stiffly, cheerfully

about her shoulders; little fluffy needles glittered through her hair in the

sunlight. He felt a brief wrench of disappointment that no menace met him in her

house; a wrench of relief also, and of disappointment.

"I’m ready, Peter," she said. "Get me my coat."

"Did you tell your uncle?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. I told him last night. He was still working when I got back."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. He just laughed and asked me what I wanted for a wedding present. But

he laughed so much!"

"Where is he? Didn’t he want to meet me at least?"

"He had to go to his newspaper office. He said he’d have plenty of time to see

more than enough of you. But he said it so nicely!"

"Listen, Katie, I...there’s one thing I wanted to tell you." He hesitated, not

looking at her. His voice was flat. "You see, it’s like this: Lucius Heyer,

Francon’s partner, is very ill and they don’t expect him to live. Francon’s been

hinting quite openly mat I’m to take Heyer’s place. But Francon has the crazy

idea that he wants me to marry his daughter. Now don’t misunderstand me, you

know there’s not a chance, but I can’t tell him so. And I thought...I thought

that if we waited...for just a few weeks...I’d be set with the firm and then

Francon could do nothing to me when I come and tell him that I’m married....But,

of course it’s up to you." He looked at her and his voice was eager. "If you

want to do it now, we’ll go at once."

"But, Peter," she said calmly, serene and astonished. "But of course. We’ll

wait."

He smiled in approval and relief. But he closed his eyes.

"Of course, we’ll wait," she said firmly. "I didn’t know this and it’s very

important. There’s really no reason to hurry at all."

"You’re not afraid that Francon’s daughter might get me?"

She laughed. "Oh, Peter! I know you too well."

"But if you’d rather..."

"No, it’s much better. You see, to tell you the truth, I thought this morning

that it would be better if we waited, but I didn’t want to say anything if you

had made up your mind. Since you’d rather wait, I’d much rather too, because,

you see, we got word this morning that Uncle’s invited to repeat this same

course of lectures at a terribly important university on the West Coast this

summer. I felt horrible about leaving him flat, with the work unfinished. And

then I thought also that perhaps we were being foolish, we’re both so young. And

133

Uncle Ellsworth laughed so much. You see, it’s really wiser to wait a little."

"Yes. Well, that’s fine. But, Katie, if you feel as you did last night..."

"But I don’t! I’m so ashamed of myself. I can’t imagine what ever happened to me

last night. I try to remember it and I can’t understand. You know how it is, you

feel so silly afterward. Everything’s so clear and simple the next day. Did I

say a lot of awful nonsense last night?"

"Well, forget it. You’re a sensible little girl. We’re both sensible. And we’ll

wait just a while, it won’t be long."

"Yes, Peter."

He said suddenly, fiercely:

"Insist on it now, Katie."

And then he laughed stupidly, as if he had not been quite serious.

She smiled gaily in answer. "You see?" she said, spreading her hands out.

"Well..." he muttered. "Well, all right, Katie. We’ll wait. It’s better, of

course. I...I’ll run along then. I’ll be late at the office." He felt he had to

escape her room for the moment, for that day. "I’ll give you a ring. Let’s have

dinner together tomorrow."

"Yes, Peter. That will be nice."

He went away, relieved and desolate, cursing himself for the dull, persistent