The Great Gatsby

I’ve never bought a horse. I’ll have to follow you in my car. Excuse
me for just a minute.”

The rest of us walked out on the porch, where Sloane and the lady
began an impassioned conversation aside.

“My God, I believe the man’s coming,” said Tom. “Doesn’t he know she
doesn’t want him?”

“She says she does want him.”

“She has a big dinner party and he won’t know a soul there.” He
frowned. “I wonder where in the devil he met Daisy. By God, I may be
old-fashioned in my ideas, but women run around too much these days to
suit me. They meet all kinds of crazy fish.”

Suddenly Mr. Sloane and the lady walked down the steps and mounted
their horses.

“Come on,” said Mr. Sloane to Tom, “we’re late. We’ve got to go.”  And
then to me: “Tell him we couldn’t wait, will you?”

Tom and I shook hands, the rest of us exchanged a cool nod, and they
trotted quickly down the drive, disappearing under the August foliage
just as Gatsby, with hat and light overcoat in hand, came out the
front door.

Tom was evidently perturbed at Daisy’s running around alone, for on
the following Saturday night he came with her to Gatsby’s
party. Perhaps his presence gave the evening its peculiar quality of