The butler entered, carrying a tray of cocktails. Holding her glass, she watched

Roark take his off the tray. She thought: At this moment the glass stem between

his fingers feels just like the one between mine; we have this much in

common....Wynand stood, holding a glass, looking at Roark with a strange kind of

incredulous wonder, not like a host, like an owner who cannot quite believe his

ownership of his prize possession....She thought: I’m not insane. I’m only

hysterical, but it’s quite all right, I’m saying something, I don’t know what it

is, but it must be all right, they are both listening and answering, Gail is

smiling, I must be saying the proper things....

Dinner was announced and she rose obediently; she led the way to the dining

room, like a graceful animal given poise by conditioned reflexes. She sat at the

head of the table, between the two men facing each other at her sides. She

watched the silverware in Roark’s fingers, the pieces of polished metal with the

initials "D W." She thought: I have done this so many times--I am the gracious

Mrs. Gail Wynand--there were Senators, judges, presidents of insurance

companies, sitting at dinner in that place at my right--and this is what I was

being trained for, this is why Gail has been rising through tortured years to

the position of entertaining Senators and judges at dinner--for the purpose of

reaching an evening when the guest facing him would be Howard Roark.