Read Online Ideal by Ayn Rand - Free Book Online

said . . .”
    He turned desperately to his guest, waiting for support. But Kay Gonda did not move. She had risen, and she stood, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her huge eyes looking at them without blinking, without expression.
    â€œAll my life,” said Mrs. Perkins, “I’ve known you were a rotter and a liar, George Perkins! But this beats it all! To have the nerve to bring that tramp right into your own home, into your bedroom!”
    â€œOh, shut up! Rosie! Listen! It’s a great honor that Miss Gonda chose to . . . Listen! I—”
    â€œYou’re drunk, that’s what you are! And I won’t listen to a single word out of you until this tramp is out of the house!”
    â€œRosie! Listen, calm yourself, for God’s sake, listen, there’s nothing to get excited about, only that Miss Gonda is wanted by the police and . . .”
    â€œOh!”
    â€œ. . . and it’s for murder . . .”
    â€œOh!”
    â€œ. . . and she just has to stay here overnight. That’s all.”
    Mrs. Perkins drew herself up and tightened her robe, and her nightgown stood out in a bump over her chest, a faded blue pattern of roses and butterflies trembling on the grayish pink.
    â€œListen to me, George Perkins,” she said slowly. “I don’t know what’s happened to you. I don’t know. I don’t care. But I know this: either she goes out of this house this minute, or else I go.”
    â€œBut, dovey, let me explain.”
    â€œI don’t need no explanations. I’ll pack my things, and I’ll take the children, too. And I’ll pray to God never to see you again.”
    Her voice was slow and calm. He knew she meant it, this time.
    She waited. He did not answer.
    â€œTell her to get out,” she hissed through her teeth.
    â€œRosie,” he muttered, choking, “I can’t.”
    â€œGeorge,” she whispered, “it’s been fifteen years . . .”
    â€œI know,” he said, without looking at her.
    â€œWe’ve struggled together pretty hard, haven’t we? Together, you and me.”
    â€œRosie, it’s just one night . . . if you know . . .”
    â€œI don’t want to know. I don’t want to know why my husband should bring such a thing upon me. A fancy woman or a murderess, or both maybe. I’ve been a faithful wife to you, George. I’ve given you the best years of my life. I’ve borne your children.”
    â€œYes, Rosie . . .”
    He looked at her drawn face, at the wrinkles around her thin mouth, at the hand that still held the faded robe in a foolish knob on her stomach.
    â€œIt’s not for me, George. Think of what’ll happen to you. Shielding a murderess. Think of the children.”
    â€œYes, Rosie . . .”
    â€œAnd your job, too. And you just got that promotion. We were going to get new drapes for the living room. The green ones. You always wanted them.”
    â€œYes, Rosie.”
    â€œThey won’t keep you down at the company, when they hear of this.”
    â€œNo, Rosie.”
    He looked desperately for a word, for a glance from the woman in black. He wanted her to decide. But she did not move, as if the scene did not concern her at all.
    â€œThink of the children, George.”
    He did not answer.
    â€œWe’ve been pretty happy together, haven’t we, George? . . . Fifteen years . . .”
    He thought of the dark night beyond the window, and beyond that night an endless world, unknown and menacing. He liked his room. Rosie had worked a year and a half, making the quilt for him. The woman had blond hair, a cold, golden blond, that one would never dare to touch. Rosie had knitted that tie, over on the dresser, in blue and green stripes, for his birthday. The woman had thin white hands that did not look human. In another year,