“That so?”

Mr. Sloane didn’t enter into the conversation, but lounged back haughtily in his chair; the woman said nothing either⁠—until unexpectedly, after two highballs, she became cordial.

“We’ll all come over to your next party, Mr. Gatsby,” she suggested. “What do you say?”

“Certainly; I’d be delighted to have you.”

“Be ver’ nice,” said Mr. Sloane, without gratitude. “Well⁠—think ought to be starting home.”

“Please don’t hurry,” Gatsby urged them. He had control of himself now, and he wanted to see more of Tom. “Why don’t you⁠—why don’t you stay for supper? I wouldn’t be surprised if some other people dropped in from New York.”