I knew now why her face was familiar—its pleasing contemptuous expression had looked out at me from many rotogravure pictures of thesporting life at Asheville and Hot Springs and PalmBeach. I had heard some story of her too， a critical，unpleasant story， but what it was I had forgottenlong ago.
“Good night，” she said softly. “Wake me at eight，won’t you.”
“If you’ll get up.”
“I will. Good night， Mr. Carraway. See you anon.”
“Of course you will，” confirmed Daisy. “In factI think I’ll arrange a marriage. Come over often，Nick， and I’ll sort of—oh—fling you together. Youknow—lock you up accidentally in linen closets andpush you out to sea in a boat，and all that sort ofthing—”
“Good night，” called Miss Baker from the stairs. “haven’t heard a word.”
“She’s a nice girl，” said Tom after a moment. “Theyoughtn’t to let her run around the country this way.”
“Who oughtn’t to？” inquired Daisy coldly.
“Her family.”
“Her family is one aunt about a thousand yearsold. Besides， Nick’s going to look after her， aren’tyou， Nick？ She’s going to spend lots of weekendsout here this summer. I think the home influencewill be very good for her.”
Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a momentin silence.
“Is she from New York？” I asked quickly.
“From Louisville. Our white girlhood was passedtogether there. Our beautiful white—”
‘‘Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk onthe veranda？” demanded Tom suddenly.
“Did I？” She looked at me. “I can’t seem toremember， but I think we talked about the Nordicrace. Yes， I’m sure we did. It sort of crept up on usand first thing you know—”
“Don’t believe everything you hear， Nick，” headvised me.
I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all， anda few minutes later I got up to go home. Theycame to the door with me and stood side by sidein a cheerful square of light. As I started my motorDaisy peremptorily called “Wait！”
“I forgot to ask you something， and it’s important.
We heard you were engaged to a girl out West.”
“That’s right，” corroborated Tom kindly. “Weheard that you were engaged.”
“It’s libel. I’m too poor.”
“But we heard it，” insisted Daisy， surprising me byopening up again in a flower-like way. “We heard itfrom three people so it must be true.”
Of course I knew what they were referring to， butI wasn’t even vaguely engaged. The fact that gossiphad published the banns was one of the reasonsI had come east. You can’t stop going with an oldfriend on account of rumors and on the other handI had no intention of being rumored into marriage.
Their interest rather touched me and made themless remotely rich—nevertheless， I was confusedand a little disgusted as I drove away. It seemed tome that the thing for Daisy to do was to rush out ofthe house， child in arms—but apparently there wereno such intentions in her head. As for Tom， the factthat he “had some woman in New York” was reallyless surprising than that he had been depressed bya book. Something was making him nibble at theedge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotismno longer nourished his peremptory heart.
Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofsand in front of wayside garages， where new red gaspumpssat out in pools of light， and when I reachedmy estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shedand sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller inthe yard. The wind had blown off， leaving a loudbright night with wings beating in the trees and apersistent organ sound as the full bellows of theearth blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette ofa moving cat wavered across the moonlight andturning my head to watch it I saw that I was notalone—fifty feet away a figure had emerged fromthe shadow of my neighbor’s mansion and was
standing with his hands in his pockets regarding thesilver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurelymovements and the secure position of his feet uponthe lawn suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby himself，come out to determine what share was his of ourlocal heavens.
I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner， and that would do for anintroduction. But I didn’t call to him for he gavea sudden intimation that he was content to bealone—he stretched out his arms toward the darkwater in a curious way， and far as I was from him could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing excepta single green light， minute and far away， that mighthave been the end of a dock. When I looked oncemore for Gatsby he had vanished， and I was aloneagain in the unquiet darkness.
