The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two youngwomen were buoyed up as though upon an anchoredballoon. They were both in white and their dresseswere rippling and fluttering as if they had just beenblown back in after a short flight around the house.
I must have stood for a few moments listening tothe whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as TomBuchanan shut the rear windows and the caughtwind died out about the room and the curtainsand the rugs and the two young women balloonedslowly to the floor.
The younger of the two was a stranger to me. Shewas extended full length at her end of the divan，completely motionless and with her chin raised little as if she were balancing something on it whichwas quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of thecorner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed， was almost surprised into murmuring an apology forhaving disturbed her by coming in.
The other girl， Daisy， made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientiousexpression—then she laughed， an absurd， charminglittle laugh， and I laughed too and came forwardinto the room.
“I’m p-paralyzed with happiness.”
She laughed again， as if she said something verywitty， and held my hand for a moment， looking upinto my face， promising that there was no one inthe world she so much wanted to see. That wasa way she had. She hinted in a murmur that thesurname of the balancing girl was Baker. （I’ve heardit said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make peoplelean toward her； an irrelevant criticism that made itno less charming.）
At any rate Miss Baker’s lips fluttered， she noddedat me almost imperceptibly and then quickly tippedher head back again—the object she was balancinghad obviously tottered a little and given hersomething of a fright. Again a sort of apology aroseto my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete selfsufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.
I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low， thrilling voice. It was thekind of voice that the ear follows up and down asif each speech is an arrangement of notes that willnever be played again. Her face was sad and lovelywith bright things in it， bright eyes and a brightpassionate mouth—but there was an excitementin her voice that men who had cared for her founddifficult to forget： a singing compulsion， a whispered“Listen，” a promise that she had done gay， excitingthings 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 fora day on my way east and how a dozen people hadsent their love through me.
“Do they miss me？” she cried ecstatically.
“The whole town is desolate. All the cars have theleft rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreathand there’s a persistent wail all night along theNorth Shore.”
“How gorgeous！ Let’s go back， Tom. Tomorrow！”
Then she added irrelevantly， “You ought to see thebaby.”
“I’d like to.”
“She’s asleep. She’s two years old. Haven’t youever seen her？”
“Never.”
“Well， you ought to see her. She’s—”
Tom Buchanan who had been hovering restlesslyabout the room stopped and rested his hand on myshoulder.
“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 stayin the East.”
“Oh， I’ll stay in the East， don’t you worry，” he said，glancing at Daisy and then back at me， as if he werealert for something more. “I’d be a God Damnedfool to live anywhere else.”
At this point Miss Baker said “Absolutely！” withsuch suddenness that I started—it was the first wordshe uttered since I came into the room. Evidently surprised her as much as it did me， for she yawnedand with a series of rapid， deft movements stood upinto the room.
“I’m stiff，” she complained， “I’ve been lying onthat sofa for as long as I can remember.”
“Don’t look at me，” Daisy retorted. “I’ve beentrying to get you to New York all afternoon.”
“No， thanks，” said Miss Baker to the four
cocktails just in from the pantry， “I’m absolutely intraining.”
Her host looked at her incredulously.
“You are！” He took down his drink as if it were adrop in the bottom of a glass. “How you ever getanything done is beyond me.”
I looked at Miss Baker wondering what it was
she “got done.” I enjoyed looking at her. She was aslender， small-breasted girl， with an erect carriagewhich she accentuated by throwing her body
backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Hergrey sun-strained eyes looked back at me withpolite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan， charmingdiscontented face. It occurred to me now that I hadseen her， or a picture of her， somewhere before.
“Yo u l i v e i n We s t Eg g ， ” s h e r ema r ke dcontemptuously. “I know somebody there.”
“I don’t know a single—”
“You must know Gatsby.”
“Gatsby？” demanded Daisy. “What Gatsby？”
Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced； wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine Tom Buchanan compelledme from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.
Slenderly， languidly， their hands set lightly ontheir hips the two young women preceded us outonto a rosy-colored porch open toward the sunsetwhere four candles flickered on the table in thediminished wind.
“Why CANDLES？” objected Daisy， frowning. Shesnapped them out with her fingers. “In two weeksit’ll be the longest day in the year.” She looked at usall radiantly. “Do you always watch for the longestday of the year and then miss it？ I always watch forthe longest day in the year and then miss it.”
“We ought to plan something，” yawned Miss
Baker， sitting down at the table as if she weregetting into bed.
“All right，” said Daisy. “What’ll we plan？” Sheturned to me helplessly. “What do people plan？”
Before I could answer her eyes fastened with anawed expression on her little finger.
“Look！” she complained. “I hurt it.”
“We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue.”