The Early Ayn Rand Read Online Free PDF

me, even after I almost plainly threw him out. And this during the time when I awoke every morning, thinking that it is the last day, that I shall hear the fatal words from Henry, at last!
    But I waited and Henry said nothing. He refused any possibility of meeting Claire Van Dahlen. She did all she could to meet him. We were flooded with invitations. She sent an invitation to him herself, at last. He refused.
    Then came the day when I understood everything. And that day decided my fate. I went to a party alone that evening. Henry stayed at home, as usual, and besides, he had work to do. I could not refuse this invitation without seriously offending the hostess. So I went, but it was a kind of torture for me. I waited with the greatest impatience for the time when it would be possible for me to leave.
    I never regretted afterwards that I went to that party. As I was passing near a curtain, I heard two women speaking on the other side of it. It was Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Brogan. They were speaking about Henry and Claire; they were speaking about me. “Well, she has given all her fortune,” said Mrs. Hughes, “she paid enough for him. He cannot leave her now.”
    “I’ll say so,” said Mrs. Brogan. “She bought her husband. He might be miserable as a starving dog now—he could not show it!”
    I stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth. I knew, now. . . .
    I went home alone, on foot. . . . I bought my husband . . . I bought my husband! . . . So this was the mystery. He could not leave me. He will never tell me. He will be tortured and keep silent. He cannot be happy with me and his life will be ruined . . . because of my money! . . . Oh! if he will not speak, I must speak!
    Perhaps I would not have done what I did, had it not been for that money. I would have fought more, perhaps, and might have gained him back. But now—I could not. I had no right. If he ever came back to me, how would I know whether it was love or thankfulness for my “sacrifice” and the resolution to sacrifice himself in his turn? How would I know that he was not ruining his happiness to recompense me for that money?
    I must give him up now—voluntarily and myself. I must give him up—because he owed me too much. I had no right to my husband any more—because I had done too much for him. . . .
    I must act now. But what to do? Offer him a divorce? He will not accept it. Tell him I do not love him? He will not believe.
    I took off my hat; I could not keep it on. Little drops of rain fell on my forehead and the wind blew my hair—it was such a relief!
    I saw a light in the window of Henry’s study as I approached our house. I went in noiselessly, not to disturb him. And when I passed by the door of his study, I heard a sound that made my heart stop. I approached the door and looked through the opening, not believing my ears. Sitting at the desk with his arms on his plans and his head on his arms, Henry was sobbing. I saw his back, which shuddered, racked by deep, desperate sobs.
    I made a step from the door. I looked before me with senseless eyes. . . . Henry cried! . . .
    “. . . He might be miserable as a starving dog now—he could not show it!”
    I knew what I had to do. He will not believe that I do not love him? I must make him believe it! . . .
    I went up to my room. I entered it mad, horrified, desperate. I came out in the morning, quiet and calm. What had gone on in me during that night—I will never speak about it with any living creature.
    “What is the matter, Irene?” asked Henry, looking into my face, when I came downstairs in the morning.
    “Nothing,” I answered. “It was a bad dream; it’s over now.”
    I was conscious of one thing only then: I must find a way, an opportunity to prove to Henry my unfaithfulness, so that there should remain no doubt. I found that opportunity. It came the same day.
    I returned home after being out, and, entering the hall, I heard a voice in Henry’s study. I knew that voice. It was Claire Van