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Updated: June 13, 2025
To his surprise he found absolutely none, the high, blue-veined forehead beneath the chestnut hair, the straight, delicate nose; the sensitive, almost effeminate curve of the mouth, must have descended from the "worthless drab" whom he had beheld in the severe white light of Fletcher's scorn. For the first time it occurred to Carraway that the illumination had been too intense.
Mrs. Carraway did her best to stay the steady advance in utilitarianism of her husband. She could bide with him in most matters. In fact, until it came to the use of the cloisonné jar for a golf-ball reservoir, she considered the idea at least harmless, and was forced to admit that it indeed held many good points.
"Do you wish anything, mother?" "Only to present Mr. Carraway, my child. He will be with us at dinner." Cynthia came forward smiling and held out her hand with the cordial hospitality which she had inherited with the family portraits and the good old name.
We must go to the doctor to-morrow morning. But, O Carraway, do go to him to-night, don't be afraid. It's only imagination. Do go. 'I'll see, he said in a dazed, dreary sort of way, 'I'll see, but I want to play the last card I have in my hand before I go. It's a trump card perhaps. 'On my honor, I said, 'You're tormenting yourself for nothing. You're as white as ever you were.
"I can't look out upon the June flowers, you know, and though the pink crape-myrtle at my window is in full bloom I cannot see it." Following her gesture, Carraway glanced out into the little yard; no myrtle was there, but he remembered vaguely that he had seen one in blossom at the Hall. "You keep flowers about you, though," he said, alluding to the scattered vases of June roses.
He met her question squarely. "For more than two hundred." Without shifting her steady gaze which she turned upon his face, she leaned forward, clasping her hands loosely upon the knees. "There are things that I want to know, Mr. Carraway," she said, "many things, and I believe that you can tell me. Most of all, I want to know why we ever came to Blake Hall? Why the Blakes ever left it?
Her large, plump face, overflushed about the nose, had a natural kindliness of expression which Carraway found almost appealing; and he concluded that as a girl she might have possessed a common prettiness of feature. Above her clear blue eyes a widening parting divided her tightly crimped bands of hair, which still showed a bright chestnut tint in the gray ripples.
"True true," admitted Carraway; "but the surprising thing is I don't hesitate to say that you who had been overseer to the Blakes for twenty years should have been able in those destitute times and on the spot, as it were, to put down seven thousand dollars." He faced the fact unflinchingly, dragging it from the long obscurity full into the red glare of the lamplight.
Blake, as if weighing each separate letter in some remote social scales. " I've known many a Guy in my day and that part, at least, of your name is quite familiar. There was Guy Nelson, and Guy Blair, and Guy Marshall, the greatest beau of his time but I don't think I ever had the pleasure of meeting a Carraway before."
He strode into the house, slamming the heavy door behind him, and a moment afterward Carraway heard him scolding brutally at the servants across the hall. The old Negress had gone muttering from the porch with her unsold chickens, when the door softly opened again, and the girl, who had entered through the front with her basket of flowers, came out into the growing moonlight.
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