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1The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven o'clock a man in a raincoat, dragging a lawn-mower, tapped at my front
2door and said that Mr. Gatsby had sent him over to cut my grass. This reminded me that I had forgotten to tell my Finn
3to come back, so I drove into West Egg Village to search for her among soggy whitewashed alleys and to buy some cups and
4lemons and flowers. The flowers were unnecessary, for at two o'clock a greenhouse arrived from Gatsby's, with
5innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby in a white flannel
6suit, silver shirt, and gold-coloured tie, hurried in. He was pale, and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath
7his eyes. "Is everything all right?" he asked immediately. "The grass looks fine, if that's what you mean." "What
8grass?" he inquired blankly. "Oh, the grass in the yard." He looked out the window at it, but, judging from his
9expression, I don't believe he saw a thing. "Looks very good," he remarked vaguely. "One of the papers said they thought
10the rain would stop about four. I think it was The Journal. Have you got everything you need in the shape of--of tea?" I
11took him into the pantry, where he looked a little reproachfully at the Finn. Together we scrutinized the twelve lemon
12cakes from the delicatessen shop. "Will they do?" I asked. "Of course, of course! They're fine!" and he added hollowly,
13"… old sport." The rain cooled about half-past three to a damp mist, through which occasional thin drops swam like dew.
14Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clay's Economics, starting at the Finnish tread that shook the kitchen
15floor, and peering towards the bleared windows from time to time as if a series of invisible but alarming happenings
16were taking place outside. Finally he got up and informed me, in an uncertain voice, that he was going home. "Why's
17that?" "Nobody's coming to tea. It's too late!" He looked at his watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time
18elsewhere. "I can't wait all day." "Don't be silly; it's just two minutes to four." He sat down miserably, as if I had
19pushed him, and simultaneously there was the sound of a motor turning into my lane. We both jumped up, and, a little
20harrowed myself, I went out into the yard. Under the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the drive.
21It stopped. Daisy's face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic
22smile. "Is this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?" The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the
23rain. I had to follow the sound of it for a moment, up and down, with my ear alone, before any words came through. A
24damp streak of hair lay like a dash of blue paint across her cheek, and her hand was wet with glistening drops as I took
25it to help her from the car. "Are you in love with me," she said low in my ear, "or why did I have to come alone?"
26"That's the secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend an hour." "Come back in an hour,
27Ferdie." Then in a grave murmur: "His name is Ferdie." "Does the gasoline affect his nose?" "I don't think so," she said
28innocently. "Why?" We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted. "Well, that's funny," I
29exclaimed. "What's funny?" She turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking at the front door. I went out and
30opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of
31water glaring tragically into my eyes. With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the hall, turned
32sharply as if he were on a wire, and disappeared into the living-room. It wasn't a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating
33of my own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain. For half a minute there wasn't a sound. Then from the
34living-room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by Daisy's voice on a clear artificial note:
35"I certainly am awfully glad to see you again." A pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went
36into the room. Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the mantelpiece in a strained counterfeit
37of perfect ease, even of boredom. His head leaned back so far that it rested against the face of a defunct mantelpiece
38clock, and from this position his distraught eyes stared down at Daisy, who was sitting, frightened but graceful, on the
39edge of a stiff chair. "We've met before," muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at me, and his lips parted with
40an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head,
41whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers, and set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow
42on the arm of the sofa and his chin in his hand. "I'm sorry about the clock," he said. My own face had now assumed a
43deep tropical burn. I couldn't muster up a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head. "It's an old clock," I
44told them idiotically. I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor. "We haven't met
45for many years," said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be. "Five years next November." The automatic
46quality of Gatsby's answer set us all back at least another minute. I had them both on their feet with the desperate
47suggestion that they help me make tea in the kitchen when the demoniac Finn brought it in on a tray. Amid the welcome
48confusion of cups and cakes a certain physical decency established itself. Gatsby got himself into a shadow and, while
49Daisy and I talked, looked conscientiously from one to the other of us with tense, unhappy eyes. However, as calmness
50wasn't an end in itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment, and got to my feet. "Where are you going?"
51demanded Gatsby in immediate alarm. "I'll be back." "I've got to speak to you about something before you go." He
52followed me wildly into the kitchen, closed the door, and whispered: "Oh, God!" in a miserable way. "What's the matter?"
53"This is a terrible mistake," he said, shaking his head from side to side, "a terrible, terrible mistake." "You're just
54embarrassed, that's all," and luckily I added: "Daisy's embarrassed too." "She's embarrassed?" he repeated
55incredulously. "Just as much as you are." "Don't talk so loud." "You're acting like a little boy," I broke out
56impatiently. "Not only that, but you're rude. Daisy's sitting in there all alone." He raised his hand to stop my words,
57looked at me with unforgettable reproach, and, opening the door cautiously, went back into the other room. I walked out
58the back way--just as Gatsby had when he had made his nervous circuit of the house half an hour before--and ran for a
59huge black knotted tree, whose massed leaves made a fabric against the rain. Once more it was pouring, and my irregular
60lawn, well-shaved by Gatsby's gardener, abounded in small muddy swamps and prehistoric marshes. There was nothing to
61look at from under the tree except Gatsby's enormous house, so I stared at it, like Kant at his church steeple, for half
62an hour. A brewer had built it early in the "period" craze, a decade before, and there was a story that he'd agreed to
63pay five years' taxes on all the neighbouring cottages if the owners would have their roofs thatched with straw. Perhaps
64their refusal took the heart out of his plan to Found a Family--he went into an immediate decline. His children sold his
65house with the black wreath still on the door. Americans, while willing, even eager, to be serfs, have always been
66obstinate about being peasantry. After half an hour, the sun shone again, and the grocer's automobile rounded Gatsby's
67drive with the raw material for his servants' dinner--I felt sure he wouldn't eat a spoonful. A maid began opening the
68upper windows of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and, leaning from the large central bay, spat meditatively
69into the garden. It was time I went back. While the rain continued it had seemed like the murmur of their voices, rising
70and swelling a little now and then with gusts of emotion. But in the new silence I felt that silence had fallen within
71the house too.
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