I

ng,andaskedthenurserightawayifitwasaboyoragirl.Shetoldmeitwasagirl,andsoIturnedmyheadawayandwept.‘Allright,’Isaid,‘I’mgladit’sagirl.AndIhopeshe’llbeafool—that’sthebestthingagirlcanbeinthisworld,abeautifullittlefool.’ “YouseeIthinkeverything’sterribleanyhow,”shewentoninaconvincedway.“Everybodythinksso—themostadvancedpeople.AndIknow.I’vebeeneverywhereandseeneverythinganddoneeverything.”Hereyesflashedaroundherinadefiantway,ratherlikeTom’s,andshelaughedwiththrillingscorn.“Sophisticated—God,I’msophisticated!” Theinstanthervoicebrokeoff,ceasingtocompelmyattention,mybelief,Ifeltthebasicinsincerityofwhatshehadsaid.Itmademeuneasy,asthoughthewholeeveninghadbeenatrickofsomesorttoexactacontributoryemotionfromme.Iwaited,andsureenough,inamomentshelookedatmewithanabsolutesmirkonherlovelyface,asifshehadassertedhermembershipinaratherdistinguishedsecretsocietytowhichsheandTombelonged. Inside,thecrimsonroombloomedwithlight.TomandMissBakersatateitherendofthelongcouchandshereadaloudtohimfromtheSaturdayEveningPost—thewords,murmurousanduninflected,runningtogetherinasoothingtune.Thelamplight,brightonhisbootsanddullontheautumn-leafyellowofherhair,glintedalongthepaperassheturnedapagewithaflutterofslendermusclesinherarms. Whenwecameinsheheldussilentforamomentwithaliftedhand. “Tobecontinued,”shesaid,tossingthemagazineonthetable,“inourverynextissue.” Herbodyasserteditselfwitharestlessmovementofherknee,andshestoodup. “Teno’clock,”sheremarked,apparentlyfindingthetimeontheceiling.“Timeforthisgoodgirltogotobed.” “Jordan’sgoingtoplayinthetournamenttomorrow,”explainedDaisy,“overatWestchester.” “Oh—you’reJordanBaker.” Iknewnowwhyherfacewasfamiliar—itspleasingcontemptuousexpressionhadlookedoutatmefrommanyrotogravurepicturesofthesportinglifeatAshevilleandHotSpringsandPalmBeach.Ihadheardsomestoryofhertoo,acritical,unpleasantstory,butwhatitwasIhadforgottenlongago. “Goodnight,”shesaidsoftly.“Wakemeateight,won’tyou.” “Ifyou’llgetup.” “Iwill.Goodnight,Mr.Carraway.Seeyouanon.” “Ofcourseyouwill,”confirmedDaisy.“InfactIthinkI’llarrangeamarriage.Comeoveroften,Nick,andI’llsortof—oh—flingyoutogether.Youknow—lockyouupaccidentallyinlinenclosetsandpushyououttoseainaboat,andallthatsortofthing—” “Goodnight,”calledMissBakerfromthestairs.“Ihaven’theardaword.” “She’sanicegirl,”saidTomafteramoment.“Theyoughtn’ttoletherrunaroundthecountrythisway.” “Whooughtn’tto?”inquiredDaisycoldly. “Herfamily.” “Herfamilyisoneauntaboutathousandyearsold.Besides,Nick’sgoingtolookafterher,aren’tyou,Nick?She’sgoingtospendlotsofweekendsoutherethissummer.Ithinkthehomeinfluencewillbeverygoodforher.” DaisyandTomlookedateachotherforamomentinsilence. “IsshefromNewYork?”Iaskedquickly. “FromLouisville.Ourwhitegirlhoodwaspassedtogetherthere.Ourbeautifulwhite—” “DidyougiveNickalittlehearttohearttalkontheveranda?”demandedTomsuddenly. “DidI?”Shelookedatme.“Ican’tseemtoremember,butIthinkwetalkedabouttheNordicrace.Yes,I’msurewedid.Itsortofcreptuponusandfirstthingyouknow—” “Don’tbelieveeverythingyouhear,Nick,”headvisedme. IsaidlightlythatIhadheardnothingatall,andafewminuteslaterIgotuptogohome.Theycametothedoorwithmeandstoodsidebysideinacheerfulsquareoflight.AsIstartedmymotorDaisyperemptorilycalled:“Wait!” “Iforgottoaskyousomething,andit’simportant.WeheardyouwereengagedtoagirloutWest.” “That’sright,”corroboratedTomkindly.“Weheardthatyouwereengaged.” “It’salibel.I’mtoopoor.” “Butweheardit,”insistedDaisy,surprisingmebyopeningupagaininaflower-likeway.“Wehearditfromthreepeople,soitmustbetrue.” OfcourseIknewwhattheywerereferringto,butIwasn’tevenvaguelyengaged.ThefactthatgossiphadpublishedthebannswasoneofthereasonsIhadcomeEast.Youcan’tstopgoingwithanoldfriendonaccountofrumours,andontheotherhandIhadnointentionofbeingrumouredintomarriage. Theirinterestrathertouchedmeandmadethemlessremotelyrich—nevertheless,IwasconfusedandalittledisgustedasIdroveaway.ItseemedtomethatthethingforDaisytodowastorushoutofthehouse,childinarms—butapparentlytherewerenosuchintentionsinherhead.AsforTom,thefactthathe“hadsomewomaninNewYork”wasreallylesssurprisingthanthathehadbeendepressedbyabook.Somethingwasmakinghimnibbleattheedgeofstaleideasasifhissturdyphysicalegotismnolongernourishedhisperemptoryheart. Alreadyitwasdeepsummeronroadhouseroofsandinfrontofwaysidegarages,wherenewredpetrol-pumpssatoutinpoolsoflight,andwhenIreachedmyestateatWestEggIranthecarunderitsshedandsatforawhileonanabandonedgrassrollerintheyard.Thewindhadblownoff,leavingaloud,brightnight,withwingsbeatinginthetreesandapersistentorgansoundasthefullbellowsoftheearthblewthefrogsfulloflife.Thesilhouetteofamovingcatwaveredacrossthemoonlight,and,turningmyheadtowatchit,IsawthatIwasnotalone—fiftyfeetawayafigurehademergedfromtheshadowofmyneighbour’smansionandwasstandingwithhishandsinhispocketsregardingthesilverpepperofthestars.SomethinginhisleisurelymovementsandthesecurepositionofhisfeetuponthelawnsuggestedthatitwasMr.Gatsbyhimself,comeouttodeterminewhatsharewashisofourlocalheavens. Idecidedtocalltohim.MissBakerhadmentionedhimatdinner,andthatwoulddoforanintroduction.ButIdidn’tcalltohim,forhegaveasuddenintimationthathewascontenttobealone—hestretchedouthisarmstowardthedarkwaterinacuriousway,and,farasIwasfromhim,Icouldhaveswornhewastrembling.InvoluntarilyIglancedseaward—anddistinguishednothingexceptasinglegreenlight,minuteandfaraway,thatmighthavebeentheendofadock.WhenIlookedoncemoreforGatsbyhehadvanished,andIwasaloneagainintheunquietdarkness.