“That’s because your mother wanted to show youoff.” Her face bent into the single wrinkle of thesmall white neck. “You dream， you. You absolutelittle dream.”
“Yes，” admitted the child calmly. “Aunt Jordan’sgot on a white dress too.”
“How do you like mother’s friends？” Daisy turnedher around so that she faced Gatsby. “Do you thinkthey’re pretty？”
“Where’s Daddy？”
“She doesn’t look like her father，” explained Daisy.
“She looks like me. She’s got my hair and shape ofthe face.”
Daisy sat back upon the couch. The nurse took step forward and held out her hand.
“Come， Pammy.”
“Goodbye， sweetheart！”
With a reluctant backward glance the welldisciplinedchild held to her nurse’s hand and was
pulled out the door， just as Tom came back， precedingfour gin rickeys that clicked full of ice.
Gatsby took up his drink.
“They certainly look cool，” he said， with visibletension.
We drank in long greedy swallows.
“I read somewhere that the sun’s getting hotterevery year，” said Tom genially. “It seems that prettysoon the earth’s going to fall into the sun—or waita minute—it’s just the opposite—the sun’s gettingcolder every year.”
“Come outside，” he suggested to Gatsby， “I’d likeyou to have a look at the place.”
I went with them out to the veranda. On the
green Sound， stagnant in the heat， one small sailcrawled slowly toward the fresher sea. Gatsby’s eyesfollowed it momentarily； he raised his hand andpointed across the bay.
“I’m right across from you.”
“So you are.”
Our eyes lifted over the rose beds and the hotlawn and the weedy refuse of the dog days alongshore. Slowly the white wings of the boat movedagainst the blue cool limit of the sky. Ahead lay thescalloped ocean and the abounding blessed isles.
“There’s sport for you，” said Tom， nodding. “I’dlike to be out there with him for about an hour.”
We had lunche on in the dining-room， darkened，too， against the heat， and drank down nervousgayety with the cold ale.
“What’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon，”
cried Daisy， “and the day after that， and the nextthirty years？”
“Don’t be morbid，” Jordan said. “Life starts allover again when it gets crisp in the fall.”
“But it’s so hot，” insisted Daisy， on the verge of tears，“And everything’s so confused. Let’s all go to town！”
Her voice struggled on through the heat， beatingagainst it， moulding its senselessness into forms.
“I’ve heard of making a garage out of a stable，”
Tom was saying to Gatsby， “but I’m the first manwho ever made a stable out of a garage.”
“Who wants to go to town？” demanded Daisy
insistently. Gatsby’s eyes floated toward her. “Ah，”
she cried， “you look so cool.”
Their eyes met， and they stared together at eachother， alone in space. With an effort she glanceddown at the table.
“You always look so cool，” she repeated.
She had told him that she loved him， and Tom Buchanan saw. He was astounded. His mouth
opened a little and he looked at Gatsby and thenback at Daisy as if he had just recognized her assome one he knew a long time ago.
“You resemble the advertisement of the man，” shewent on innocently. “You know the advertisementof the man—”
“All right，” broke in Tom quickly， “I’m perfectlywilling to go to town. Come on—we’re all going totown.”
He got up， his eyes still flashing between Gatsbyand his wife. No one moved.
“Come on！” His temper cracked a little. “What’sthe matter， anyhow？ If we’re going to town let’sstart.”
His hand， trembling with his effort at self control，bore to his lips the last of his glass of ale. Daisy’svoice got us to our feet and out on to the blazinggravel drive.
“Are we just going to go？” she objected. “Like this？
Aren’t we going to let any one smoke a cigarettefirst？”
“Everybody smoked all through lunch.”
“Oh， let’s have fun，” she begged him. “It’s too hotto fuss.”
He didn’t answer.
“Have it your own way，” she said. “Come on，Jordan.”
They went upstairs to get ready while we threemen stood there shuffling the hot pebbles with ourfeet. A silver curve of the moon hovered already inthe western sky. Gatsby started to speak， changedhis mind， but not before Tom wheeled and facedhim expectantly.
“Have you got your stables here？” asked Gatsbywith an effort.
“About a quarter of a mile down the road.”
“Oh.”
A pause.
“I don’t see the idea of going to town，” broke outTom savagely. “Women get these notions in theirheads—”
“Shall we take anything to drink？” called Daisyfrom an upper window.
“I’ll get some whiskey，” answered Tom. He wentinside.
Gatsby turned to me rigidly：
“I can’t say anything in his house， old sport.”
“She’s got an indiscreet voice，” I remarked. “It’sfull of—”
I hesitated.
“Her voice is full of money，” he said suddenly.
That was it. I’d never understood before. It wasfull of money—that was the inexhaustible charmthat rose and fell in it， the jingle of it， the cymbals’
song of it…. High in a white palace the king’sdaughter， the golden girl….
Tom came out of the house wrapping a quart
bottle in a towel， followed by Daisy and Jordanwearing small tight hats of metallic cloth andcarrying light capes over their arms.
“Shall we all go in my car？” suggested Gatsby. Hefelt the hot， green leather of the seat. “I ought tohave left it in the shade.”
“Is it standard shift？” demanded Tom.
“Yes.”
“Well， you take my coupé and let me drive yourcar to town.”
The suggestion was distasteful to Gatsby.
“I don’t think there’s much gas，” he objected.
“Plenty of gas，” said Tom boisterously. He looked atthe gauge. “And if it runs out I can stop at a drug store.
You can buy anything at a drug store nowadays.”
A pause followed this apparently pointless remark.
Daisy looked at Tom frowning and an indefinableexpression， at once definitely unfamiliar and vaguelyrecognizable， as if I had only heard it described inwords， passed over Gatsby’s face.
“Come on， Daisy，” said Tom， pressing her withhis hand toward Gatsby’s car. “I’ll take you in thiscircus wagon.”
He opened the door but she moved out from thecircle of his arm.
“You take Nick and Jordan. We’ll follow you inthe coupé.”
