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!"

"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.