Why they came East I dont know. They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there wherever rich people got together to play polo. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone.
And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I hardly knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red-and-white Georgian Colonial mansion, overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over brick walks and gardens. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.
He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a strong straw-haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a haughty manner. Two shining arrogant eyes gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body a cruel body.
There was a touch of paternal contempt in his voice, even toward people he liked and there were men at New Haven who had hated him.
«Now, dont think my opinion on these matters is final», he seemed to say, «just because Im stronger and more of a man than you are». We were in the same senior society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him.
We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch and then walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space. The windows were partly open. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the ceiling.
The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous sofa on which two young women were lying. They were both in white, and their dresses were rippling and fluttering.
The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was completely motionless, and with her chin raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which could fall. If she saw me she gave no hint of it.
The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise she leaned slightly forward, then she laughed, and I laughed too and came into the room.
«Im 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 her manner. She murmured that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker.
Miss Baker barely nodded at me, and then quickly tipped her head back again the object she was balancing had obviously given her something of a fright.
I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down. Her face was sad and lovely, she had bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, and there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget.
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 left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath, and theres a persistent wail all night along the north shore».
«How gorgeous! Lets go back, Tom. Tomorrow!» Then she suddenly added: «You ought to see the baby».
«Id like to».
«Shes asleep. Shes three years old. Havent you ever seen her?»
«Never».
«Well, you ought to see her. Shes»
Tom Buchanan,
happens».
«Is something happening?» I said innocently.
«You mean to say you dont know?» said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. «I thought everybody knew».
«I dont».
«Why» she said hesitantly, «Toms got some woman in New York».
«Got some woman?» I repeated.
Miss Baker nodded.
«She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner time. Dont you think?»
Almost at once Tom and Daisy were back at the table.
«It couldnt be helped!» cried Daisy with tense gaiety.
She sat down, glanced at Miss Baker and then at me, and continued: «I looked outdoors for a minute, and its very romantic outdoors. Theres a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale. His song is so beautiful!» Her voice sang: «Its romantic, isnt it, Tom?»
«Very romantic», he said.
The telephone rang inside, and Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I was conscious of wanting to look directly at every one, and yet to avoid all eyes.