Daisy’s face was smeared with tears and when Icame in she jumped up and began wiping at it withher handkerchief before a mirror. But there wasa change in Gatsby that was simply confounding.
He literally glowed； without a word or a gesture ofexultation a new well-being radiated from him andfilled the little room.
“Oh， hello， old sport，” he said， as if he hadn’t seenme for years. I thought for a moment he was goingto shake hands.
“It’s stopped raining.”
“Has it？” When he realized what I was talkingabout， that there were twinkle-bells of sunshinein the room， he smiled like a weather man， like anecstatic patron of recurrent light， and repeated thenews to Daisy. “What do you think of that？ It’sstopped raining.”
“I’m glad， Jay.” Her throat， full of aching， grievingbeauty， told only of her unexpected joy.
“I want you and Daisy to come over to my house，”
he said， “I’d like to show her around.”
“You’re sure you want me to come？”
“Absolutely， old sport.”
Daisy went upstairs to wash her face—too lateI thought with humiliation of my towels—whileGatsby and I waited on the lawn.
“My house looks well， doesn’t it？” he demanded.
“See how the whole front of it catches the light.”
I agreed that it was splendid.
“Yes.” His eyes went over it， every arched doorand square tower. “It took me just three years toearn the money that bought it.”
“I thought you inherited your money.”
“I did， old sport，” he said automatically， “but I lostmost of it in the big panic—the panic of the war.”
I think he hardly knew what he was saying， forwhen I asked him what business he was in he
answered “That’s my affair，” before he realized thatit wasn’t the appropriate reply.
“Oh， I’ve been in several things，” he correctedhimself. “I was in the drug business and then I wasin the oil business. But I’m not in either one now.”
He looked at me with more attention. “Do youmean you’ve been thinking over what I proposedthe other night？”
Before I could answer， Daisy came out of the house and two rows of brass buttons on her dressgleamed in the sunlight.
“That huge place THERE？” she cried pointing.
“Do you like it？”
“I love it， but I don’t see how you live there allalone.”
“I keep it always full of interesting people， night andday. People who do interesting things. Celebratedpeople.”
Instead of taking the short cut along the Soundwe went down the road and entered by the big
postern. With enchanting murmurs Daisy admiredthis aspect or that of the feudal silhouette againstthe sky， admired the gardens， the sparkling odor ofjonquils and the frothy odor of hawthorn and plumblossoms and the pale gold odor of kiss-me-at-thegate.
It was strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir of bright dresses in and out the door，and hear no sound but bird voices in the trees.
And inside as we wandered through Marie Antoinette music rooms and Restoration salons Ifelt that there were guests concealed behind everycouch and table， under orders to be breathlesslysilent until we had passed through. As Gatsbyclosed the door of “the Merton College Library” could have sworn I heard the owl-eyed man breakintoghostly laughter.
We went upstairs， through period bedrooms swathed in rose and lavender silk and vivid with newflowers， through dressing rooms and poolrooms，and bathrooms with sunken baths—intruding intoone chamber where a dishevelled man in pajamaswas doing liver exercises on the floor. It wasMr. Klipspringer， the “boarder.” I had seen himwandering hungrily about the beach that morning.
Finally we came to Gatsby’s own apartment， bedroom and a bath and an Adam study， where wesat down and drank a glass of some Chartreuse hetook from a cupboard in the wall.
He hadn’t once ceased looking at Daisy and think he revalued everything in his house accordingto the measure of response it drew from her welllovedeyes. Sometimes， too， he stared around at hispossessions in a dazed way as though in her actualand astounding presence none of it was any longerreal. Once he nearly toppled down a flight of stairs.
His bedroom was the simplest room of all—except where the dresser was garnished with a toiletset of pure dull gold. Daisy took the brush withdelight and smoothed her hair， whereupon Gatsbysat down and shaded his eyes and began to laugh.
“It’s the funniest thing， old sport，” he saidhilariously. “I can’t—when I try to—”
He had passed visibly through two states and wasentering upon a third. After his embarrassment andhis unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonderat her presence. He had been full of the idea solong， dreamed it right through to the end， waitedwith his teeth set， so to speak， at an inconceivablepitch of intensity. Now， in the reaction， he wasrunning down like an over wound clock.
Recovering himself in a minute he opened for ustwo hulking patent cabinets which held his massedsuits and dressing-gowns and ties， and his shirts，piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high.
“I’ve got a man in England who buys me clothes.
He sends over a selection of things at the beginningof each season， spring and fall.”
He took out a pile of shirts and began throwingthem， one by one before us， shirts of sheer linenand thick silk and fine flannel which lost theirfolds as they fell and covered the table in manycoloreddisarray. While we admired he brought more and the soft rich heap mounted higher— shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in coraland apple-green and lavender and faint orangewith monograms of Indian blue. Suddenly with astrained sound， Daisy bent her head into the shirtsand began to cry stormily.
