The Early Ayn Rand

I did not see him the next day. I waited anxiously till the evening- He did not come. Neither did he on the second day. A young fellow, a very self-confident and very clumsy "sheik," who tried hopelessly to win a little attention from me, called upon me that day and, talking endlessly and quickly about everything imaginable, like a radio, dropped finally: "By the way, Henry Stafford has got into some business trouble... serious, they say."

I learned the whole terrible news in the next days: Henry was ruined. It was a frightful ruin: not only had he lost everything, but he owed a whole fortune to many persons. It was not his fault, even though he had always been so careless with his business. It was circumstance. Everybody knew it; but it looked like his fault. And it was a terrible blow, a mortal blow to his name, his reputation, all his future.

Our little town was greatly excited. There were persons who sympathized with him, but most of them were maliciously, badly glad. They had always resented him, despite the admiration they surrounded him with, or just because of it, perhaps. "I would like to see what kind of face he'll make now," said one. "O-oh! That's great!" "Such a shame!" said others.

Many remarks turned upon me, also. They had always resented me for being Henry's choice. "Don't know what he'd find 'bout that Irene Wilmer," had said once Patsy Tillins, the town's prize vamp, summing up the general opinion. Now, Mrs. Hughes, one of our social leaders, a respectable lady, but who had three daughters to marry, said to me, with a charming smile: "I am sincerely happy that you escaped it in time, dear child... Always thought that man was good for nothing"; to which Patsy Tillins added, in a white cloud, as she was quickly powdering her nose: "Who's it you'll pick up next, dearie?"

I did not pay any attention to it all and I was not hurt. I only tried to understand the position and wondered if it was really so serious for Henry or not. One sentence only, pronounced by a stern, serious businessman whom I always respected, explained all to me and cleared the terrible truth. "He is an honest man," he said to a friend, not knowing that I heard it, "but the only honorable thing left to him is to shoot himself, and the sooner the better." Then I understood. I did not think long. I threw a wrap on my shoulders and ran to his house.

I trembled when I saw him. I scarcely even recognized him. He was sitting at his desk, with a stone face and immobile eyes. One of his arms was hanging helplessly by his side and I saw that only his fingers were trembling, so lightly I could scarcely notice it...

He did not hear me enter. I approached him and fell at his feet, burying my head in his knees. He shuddered. Then he took my arms strongly and forced me to rise. "Go home, Irene," he said with a stern, cold, expressionless voice, "and never come again."

"You... you don't love me, Henry?" I muttered.

There was suffering now in his voice, but anger also when he answered: "There can be nothing between us, now... Can't you understand it?"

I understood. But I smiled, I just smiled from fun, because it was too impossible to be true. Money was now between us, money pretended to take him from me. Him!... I laughed, a frightful laugh. But would you not laugh if one would try to deprive you of your whole life, your one and only aim, your god... because that god has no money?...

He did not want to listen to me. But I made him listen...

I could not tell how many long, horrible hours I spent begging and imploring him. He refused. He was tender at times, asking me to forget him; then he was cold and stern, and turned his back to me, not to hear my words, ordering me to leave him. But I saw the passionate love in his eyes, the despair that he tried in vain to hide. I remained- I fell on my knees; I kissed his hands. "Henry... Henry, I cannot live without you! ... I just cannot!" I cried.

It took a long time to conquer him. But I was desperate and despair always finds a way. He surrendered himself at last and agreed... And when he held me in his arms, covering my face with kisses, flooded by tears, when he whispered: "Yes... Irene... yes," and his lips trembled, I knew that he loved me, that an immense love made his eyes so dark with emotion...

The town exploded with surprise when they learned the news. No one was able to believe it, at first. When they did — the terror was general. Even Mrs. Hughes rushed to me and cried with a real sincerity and a sincere terror: "But... but you will not marry him, Irene! ... It's foolish! Why, but it's... it's foolish!" She was unable to find another word. "The girl is crazy!" said her friend, Mrs. Brogan, who was not so particular about expressions.