Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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When he had decided this and had about made up his mind to go, Eleanor Marbrooke came in. He looked at her keenly. She had not lost, not a bit. He fancied that she had not quite so much paint on as the others, and when he and she talked he felt a social refuge in her cool beauty. Even then he felt that the difference between her and the others was in degree rather than in kind. He stayed, of course, and one o’clock found them sitting apart, watching. There had been a drifting away and now there seemed to be nothing but officers and girls; the Severances themselves seemed out of place as they chattered volubly in a corner to a young couple who looked as if they would rather be left alone.

“Eleanor,” he demanded, “why is it that everyone looks so—well, so loose—so socially slovenly?”

“It’s terribly obvious, isn’t it?” she agreed, following his eyes around the room.

“And no one seems to care,” he continued.

“No one does,” she responded, “but, my dear man, we can’t sit here and criticize our hosts. What about me? How do I look?”