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“You see?” cried Catherine triumphantly. She lowered her voice again. “It's really his wife that's keeping them apart. She's a Catholic and they don't believe in divorce.”

Daisy was not a Catholic and I was a little shocked at this lie.

“When they get married,” continued Catherine, “they're going West to live for a while there.”

“Why not to Europe?”

“Oh, do you like Europe?” she exclaimed surprisingly. “I just got back from Monte Carlo.”

“Really?”

“Just last year. I went over there with a girl friend.”

“Stay long?”

“No, we just went to Monte Carlo and back. We had more than twelve hundred dollars when we started but we lost everything. God, how I hated that town!”

“I almost made a mistake, too,” Mrs. McKee declared vigorously. “I almost married a man who was below me. Everybody was saying to me: 'Lucille, that man's below you!' But luckily I met Chester!”

“Yes, but listen,” said Myrtle Wilson, nodding her head up and down, “at least you didn't marry him.”

“I know I didn't.”

“And I married him,” said Myrtle, ambiguously. “And that's the difference between your case and mine.”

“Why did you, Myrtle?” demanded Catherine. “Nobody forced you to.”

“I made a mistake,” she declared vigorously. “I married him because I thought he was a gentleman, but he wasn't fit to lick my shoe.”

“You were crazy about him for a while,” said Catherine.

“Crazy about him!” cried Myrtle incredulously. “Who said I was crazy about him? I never was any more crazy about him than I was about that man there.”

She pointed suddenly at me, and every one looked at me. I tried to smile.