Mrs. Wilson had changed her costume some time before and was now attired in an elaborateafternoon dress of cream colored chiffon， whichgave out a continual rustle as she swept aboutthe room. With the influence of the dress herpersonality had also undergone a change. The intense vitality that had been so remarkable in thegarage was converted into impressive hauteur. Herlaughter， her gestures， her assertions became moreviolently affected moment by moment and as sheexpanded the room grew smaller around her untilshe seemed to be revolving on a noisy， creakingpivot through the smoky air.
“My dear，” she told her sister in a high mincingshout， “most of these fellas will cheat you every time.
All they think of is money. I had a woman up here lastweek to look at my feet and when she gave me thebill you’d of thought she had my appendicitus out.”
“What was the name of the woman？” asked Mrs. McKee.
“Mrs. Eberhardt. She goes around looking at
people’s feet in their own homes.”
“I like your dress，” remarked Mrs. McKee， “think it’s adorable.”
Mrs. Wilson rejected the compliment by raisingher eyebrow in disdain.
“It’s just a crazy old thing，” she said. “I just slip on sometimes when I don’t care what I look like.”
“But it looks wonderful on you， if you know whatI mean，” pursued Mrs. McKee. “If Chester couldonly get you in that pose I think he could makesomething of it.”
We all looked in silence at Mrs. Wilson who removed a strand of hair from over her eyes andlooked back at us with a brilliant smile. Mr. McKeeregarded her intently with his head on one side andthen moved his hand back and forth slowly in frontof his face.
“I should change the light，” he said after a moment.
“I’d like to bring out the modelling of the features.
And I’d try to get hold of all the back hair.”
“I wouldn’t think of changing the light，” criedMrs. McKee. “I think it’s—”
“Her husband said “SH！” and we all looked at thesubject again whereupon Tom Buchanan yawned
audibly and got to his feet.
“You McKees have something to drink，” he said.
“Get some more ice and mineral water， Myrtle，before everybody goes to sleep.”
“I told that boy about the ice.” Myrtle raised hereyebrows in despair at the shiftlessness of the lowerorders. “These people！ You have to keep after themall the time.”
She looked at me and laughed pointlessly. Thenshe flounced over to the dog， kissed it with ecstasyand swept into the kitchen， implying that a dozenchefs awaited her orders there.
“I’ve done some nice things out on Long Island，”
asserted Mr. McKee.
Tom looked at him blankly.
“Two of them we have framed downstairs.”
“Two what？” demanded Tom.
“Two studies. One of them I call ‘Montauk Point—the Gulls，’ and the other I call ‘Montauk Point—theSea.’ ”
The sister Catherine sat down beside me on thecouch.
“Do you live down on Long Island， too？” sheinquired.
“I live at West Egg.”
“Really？ I was down there at a party about amonth ago. At a man named Gatsby’s. Do you knowhim？”
“I live next door to him.”
“Well， they say he’s a nephew or a cousin of KaiserWilhelm’s. That’s where all his money comes from.”
“Really？”
She nodded.
“I’m scared of him. I’d hate to have him get anythingon me.”
This absorbing information about my neighbor
was interrupted by Mrs. McKee’s pointing suddenlyat Catherine：
“Chester， I think you could do something withHER，” she broke out， but Mr. McKee only noddedin a bored way and turned his attention to Tom.
“I’d like to do more work on Long Island if could get the entry. All I ask is that they should giveme a start.”
“Ask Myrtle，” said Tom， breaking into a shortshout of laughter as Mrs. Wilson entered with tray. “She’ll give you a letter of introduction， won’tyou， Myrtle？”
“Do what？” she asked， startled.
“You’ll give McKee a letter of introduction to yourhusband， so he can do some studies of him.” His lipsmoved silently for a moment as he invented. “GeorgeB. Wilson at the Gasoline Pump， or something likethat.”
Catherine leaned close to me and whispered in myear： “Neither of them can stand the person they’remarried to.”
“Can’t they？”
“Can’t STAND them.” She looked at Myrtle andthen at Tom. “What I say is， why go on living withthem if they can’t stand them？ If I was them I’d geta divorce and get married to each other right away.”
“Doesn’t she like Wilson either？”
The answer to this was unexpected. It came fromMyrtle who had overheard the question and it wasviolent and obscene.
“You see？” cried Catherine triumphantly. Shelowered her voice again. “It’s really his wife that’skeeping them apart. She’s a Catholic and they don’tbelieve in divorce.”
Daisy was not a Catholic and I was a little shockedat the elaborateness of the lie.
“When they do get married，” continued Catherine，“they’re going west to live for a while until it blowsover.”
“It’d be more discreet to go to Europe.”
“Oh， do you like Europe？” she exclaimed surprisingly.
“I just got back from Monte Carlo.”
“Really.”
“Just last year. I went over there with anothergirl.”
“Stay long？”
“No， we just went to Monte Carlo and back. Wewent by way of Marseilles. We had over twelvehundred dollars when we started but we got gyppedout of it all in two days in the private rooms. Wehad an awful time getting back， I can tell you. God，how I hated that town！”
The late afternoon sky bloomed in the window for amoment like the blue honey of the Mediterranean—then the shrill voice of Mrs. McKee called me backinto the room.
“I almost made a mistake， too，” she declaredvigorously. “I almost married a little kyke who’dbeen after me for years. I knew he was below me.
Everybody kept saying to me： ‘Lucille， that man’sway below you！’ But if I hadn’t met Chester， he’d ofgot me sure.”
