Atlas Shrugged [411]
She knew that he had seen Francisco's face before he had seen hers.
He glanced at her, but his eyes came back to Francisco, as if this were the only face he was now able to see.
It was at Francisco's face that she was afraid to look. The effort she made to pull her glance along the curve of a few steps felt as if she were pulling a weight beyond her power. Francisco had risen to his feet, as if in the unhurried, automatic manner of a d'Anconia trained to the code of courtesy. There was nothing that Rearden could see in his face. But what she saw in it was worse than she had feared.
"What are you doing here?" asked Rearden, in the tone one would use to address a menial caught in a drawing room.
"I see that I have no right to ask you the same question," said Francisco. She knew what effort was required to achieve the clear, toneless quality of his voice. His eyes kept returning to Rearden's right hand, as if he were still seeing the key between, his fingers.
"Then answer it," said Rearden.
"Hank, any questions you wish to ask should be asked of me," she said.
Rearden did not seem to see or hear her. "Answer it," he repeated.
"There is only one answer which you would have the right to demand," said Francisco, "so I will answer you that that is not the reason of my presence here."
"There is only one reason for your presence in the house of any woman," said Rearden. "And I mean, any woman-as far as you're concerned. Do you think that I believe it now, that confession of yours or anything you ever said to me?"
"I have given you grounds not to trust me, but none to include Miss Taggart."
"Don't tell me that you have no chance here, never had and never will. I know it. But that I should find you here on the first-"
"Hank, if you wish to accuse me-" she began, but Rearden whirled to her.
"God, no, Dagny, I don't! But you shouldn't be seen speaking to him. You shouldn't deal with him in any way. You don't know him. I do." He turned to Francisco. "What are you after? Are you hoping to include her among your kind of conquests or-"
"No!" It was an involuntary cry and it sounded futile, with its passionate sincerity offered-to be rejected-as its only proof.
"No? Then are you here on a matter of business? Are you setting a trap, as you -did for me? What sort of double-cross are you preparing for her?"
"My purpose . . . was not . . . a matter of business."
"Then what was it?"
"If you still care to believe me, I can tell you only that it involved no . . . betrayal of any kind."
"Do you think that you may still discuss betrayal, in my presence?"
"I will answer you some day. I cannot answer you now."
"You don't like to be reminded of it, do you? You've stayed away from me since, haven't you? You didn't expect to see me here? You didn't want to face me?" But he knew that Francisco was facing him as no one else did these days-he saw the eyes held straight to meet his, the features composed, without emotion, without defense or appeal, set to endure whatever was coming-he saw the open, unprotected look of courage-this was the face of the man he had loved, the man who had set him free of guilt-and he found himself fighting against the knowledge that this face still held him, above all else, above his month of impatience for the sight of Dagny. "Why don't you defend yourself, if you have nothing to hide? Why are you here? Why were you stunned to see me enter?"
"Hank, stop it!" Dagny's voice was a cry, and she drew back, knowing that violence was the most dangerous element to introduce into this moment.
Both men turned to her. "Please let me be the one to answer," Francisco said quietly.
"I told you that I hoped I'd never see him again," said Rearden.
'Tm sorry if it has to be here. It doesn't concern you, but there's something he must be paid for."
"If that is . . . your purpose," Francisco said with effort, "haven't you . . . achieved it already?"
"What's the matter?" Rearden's face was frozen, his lips barely moving, but his voice had