I

k,andeverybodyoughttoreadit.Theideaisifwedon’tlookoutthewhiteracewillbe—willbeutterlysubmerged.It’sallscientificstuffit’sbeenproved.” “Tom’sgettingveryprofound,”saidDaisy,withanexpressionofunthoughtfulsadness.“Hereadsdeepbookswithlongwordsinthem.Whatwasthatwordwe—” “Well,thesebooksareallscientific,”insistedTom,glancingatherimpatiently.“Thisfellowhasworkedoutthewholething.It’suptous,whoarethedominantrace,towatchoutortheseotherraceswillhavecontrolofthings.” “We’vegottobeatthemdown,”whisperedDaisy,winkingferociouslytowardtheferventsun. “YououghttoliveinCalifornia—”beganMissBaker,butTominterruptedherbyshiftingheavilyinhischair. “Thisideaisthatwe’reNordics.Iam,andyouare,andyouare,and—”AfteraninfinitesimalhesitationheincludedDaisywithaslightnod,andshewinkedatmeagain.“—Andwe’veproducedallthethingsthatgotomakecivilization—oh,scienceandart,andallthat.Doyousee?” Therewassomethingpatheticinhisconcentration,asifhiscomplacency,moreacutethanofold,wasnotenoughtohimanymore.When,almostimmediately,thetelephoneranginsideandthebutlerlefttheporchDaisyseizeduponthemomentaryinterruptionandleanedtowardsme. “I’lltellyouafamilysecret,”shewhisperedenthusiastically.“It’saboutthebutler’snose.Doyouwanttohearaboutthebutler’snose?” “That’swhyIcameovertonight.” “Well,hewasn’talwaysabutlerheusedtobethesilverpolisherforsomepeopleinNewYorkthathadasilverservicefortwohundredpeople.Hehadtopolishitfrommorningtillnight,untilfinallyitbegantoaffecthisnose—” “Thingswentfrombadtoworse,”suggestedMissBaker. “Yes.Thingswentfrombadtoworse,untilfinallyhehadtogiveuphisposition.” ForamomentthelastsunshinefellwithromanticaffectionuponherglowingfacehervoicecompelledmeforwardbreathlesslyasIlistened—thentheglowfaded,eachlightdesertingherwithlingeringregret,likechildrenleavingapleasantstreetatdusk. ThebutlercamebackandmurmuredsomethingclosetoTom’sear,whereuponTomfrowned,pushedbackhischair,andwithoutawordwentinside.Asifhisabsencequickenedsomethingwithinher,Daisyleanedforwardagain,hervoiceglowingandsinging. “Ilovetoseeyouatmytable,Nick.Youremindmeofa—ofarose,anabsoluterose.Doesn’the?”SheturnedtoMissBakerforconfirmation:“Anabsoluterose?” Thiswasuntrue.Iamnotevenfaintlylikearose.Shewasonlyextemporizing,butastirringwarmthflowedfromher,asifherheartwastryingtocomeouttoyouconcealedinoneofthosebreathless,thrillingwords.Thensuddenlyshethrewhernapkinonthetableandexcusedherselfandwentintothehouse. MissBakerandIexchangedashortglanceconsciouslydevoidofmeaning.Iwasabouttospeakwhenshesatupalertlyandsaid“Sh!”inawarningvoice.Asubduedimpassionedmurmurwasaudibleintheroombeyond,andMissBakerleanedforwardunashamed,tryingtohear.Themurmurtrembledonthevergeofcoherence,sankdown,mountedexcitedly,andthenceasedaltogether. “ThisMr.Gatsbyyouspokeofismyneighbour—”Ibegan. “Don’ttalk.Iwanttohearwhathappens.” “Issomethinghappening?”Iinquiredinnocently. “Youmeantosayyoudon’tknow?”saidMissBaker,honestlysurprised.“Ithoughteverybodyknew.” “Idon’t.” “Why—”shesaidhesitantly.“Tom’sgotsomewomaninNewYork.” “Gotsomewoman?”Irepeatedblankly. MissBakernodded. “Shemighthavethedecencynottotelephonehimatdinnertime.Don’tyouthink?” AlmostbeforeIhadgraspedhermeaningtherewastheflutterofadressandthecrunchofleatherboots,andTomandDaisywerebackatthetable. “Itcouldn’tbehelped!”criedDaisywithtensegaiety. Shesatdown,glancedsearchinglyatMissBakerandthenatme,andcontinued:“Ilookedoutdoorsforaminute,andit’sveryromanticoutdoors.There’sabirdonthelawnthatIthinkmustbeanightingalecomeoverontheCunardorWhiteStarLine.He’ssingingaway—”Hervoicesang:“It’sromantic,isn’tit,Tom?” “Veryromantic,”hesaid,andthenmiserablytome:“Ifit’slightenoughafterdinner,Iwanttotakeyoudowntothestables.” Thetelephoneranginside,startlingly,andasDaisyshookherheaddecisivelyatTomthesubjectofthestables,infactallsubjects,vanishedintoair.AmongthebrokenfragmentsofthelastfiveminutesattableIrememberthecandlesbeinglitagain,pointlessly,andIwasconsciousofwantingtolooksquarelyateveryone,andyettoavoidalleyes.Icouldn’tguesswhatDaisyandTomwerethinking,butIdoubtifevenMissBaker,whoseemedtohavemasteredacertainhardyscepticism,wasableutterlytoputthisfifthguest’sshrillmetallicurgencyoutofmind.Toacertaintemperamentthesituationmighthaveseemedintriguing—myowninstinctwastotelephoneimmediatelyforthepolice. Thehorses,needlesstosay,werenotmentionedagain.TomandMissBaker,withseveralfeetoftwilightbetweenthem,strolledbackintothelibrary,asiftoavigilbesideaperfectlytangiblebody,while,tryingtolookpleasantlyinterestedandalittledeaf,IfollowedDaisyaroundachainofconnectingverandastotheporchinfront.Initsdeepgloomwesatdownsidebysideonawickersettee. Daisytookherfaceinherhandsasiffeelingitslovelyshape,andhereyesmovedgraduallyoutintothevelvetdusk.Isawthatturbulentemotionspossessedher,soIaskedwhatIthoughtwouldbesomesedativequestionsaboutherlittlegirl. “Wedon’tknoweachotherverywell,Nick,”shesaidsuddenly.“Evenifwearecousins.Youdidn’tcometomywedding.” “Iwasn’tbackfromthewar.” “That’strue.”Shehesitated.“Well,I’vehadaverybadtime,Nick,andI’mprettycynicalabouteverything.” Evidentlyshehadreasontobe.Iwaitedbutshedidn’tsayanymore,andafteramomentIreturnedratherfeeblytothesubjectofherdaughter. “Isupposeshetalks,and—eats,andeverything.” “Oh,yes.”Shelookedatmeabsently.“Listen,NickletmetellyouwhatIsaidwhenshewasborn.Wouldyouliketohear?” “Verymuch.” “It’llshowyouhowI’vegottentofeelabout—things.Well,shewaslessthananhouroldandTomwasGodknowswhere.Iwokeupoutoftheetherwithanutterlyabandonedfeeli