interminable amount of stock, then I fell asleep in my swivel-chair. Just before noon the phone woke me and I started up with sweat breaking out on my forehead. It was Jordan Baker; she often called me up at this hour because the uncertainty of her own movements between hotels and clubs and private houses made her hard to find in any other way. Usually her voice came over the wire as something fresh and cool as if a divot from a green golf links had come sailing in at the office window but this morning it seemed harsh and dry.

“I've left Daisy's house,” she said. “I'm at Hempstead and I'm going down to Southampton this afternoon.”

Probably it had been tactful to leave Daisy's house, but the act annoyed me and her next remark made me rigid.