The Great Gatsby | Page 5

curtains and the rugs and the two young
women ballooned slowly to the floor.
The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was
extended full length at her end of the divan, completely
motionless and with her chin raised a little as if she were
balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If
she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of
it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apol-
ogy for having disturbed her by coming in.
The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she
leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—
then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I
laughed too and came forward into the room.
‘I’m p-paralyzed with happiness.’
She laughed again, as if she said something very witty,
and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face,
promising that there was no one in the world she so much
wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a mur-
mur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I’ve
heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people
lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less
charming.)
At any rate Miss Baker’s lips fluttered, she nodded at me
almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped her head back
again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered
a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of

The Great Gatsby
1 

apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete
self su?bciency draws a stunned tribute from me.
I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me ques-
tions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that
the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrange-
ment of notes that will never be played again. Her face was
sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a
bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in
her voice that men who had cared for her found di?bcult to
forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered ‘Listen,’ a prom-
ise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since
and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next
hour.
I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on
my way east and how a dozen people had sent their love
through me.
‘Do they miss me?’ she cried ecstatically.
‘The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the le?f rear
wheel painted black as a mourning wreath and there’s a per-
sistent wail all night along the North Shore.’
‘How gorgeous! Let’s go back, Tom. Tomorrow!’ Then
she added irrelevantly, ‘You ought to see the baby.’
‘I’d like to.’
‘She’s asleep. She’s two years old. Haven’t you ever seen
her?’
‘Never.’
‘Well, you ought to see her. She’s——‘
Tom Buchanan who had been hovering restlessly about
the room stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.

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‘What you doing, Nick?’
‘I’m a bond man.’
‘Who with?’
I told him.
‘Never heard of them,’ he remarked decisively.
This annoyed me.
‘You will,’ I answered shortly. ‘You will if you stay in the
East.’
‘Oh, I’ll stay in the East, don’t you worry,’ he said, glanc-
ing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for
something more. ‘I’d be a God Damned fool to live any-
where else.’
At this point Miss Baker said ‘Absolutely!’ with such
suddenness that I started—it was the first word she uttered
since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as
much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid,
de?f movements stood up into the room.
‘I’m stiff,’ she complained, ‘I’ve been lying on