The Complete Novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Unabridged). Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд

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СКАЧАТЬ handsome, wealthy, faithful to his own, a bore perhaps, but steady and sure of success.) Ryder: I believe this is my dance, Rosalind.

      Rosalind: Well, Dawson, so you recognize me. Now I know I haven’t got too much paint on. Mr. Ryder, this is Mr. Gillespie.

      (They shake hands and Gillespie leaves, tremendously downcast.)

      Ryder: Your party is certainly a success.

      Rosalind: Is it—I haven’t seen it lately. I’m weary—Do you mind sitting out a minute?

      Ryder: Mind—I’m delighted. You know I loathe this “rushing” idea. See a girl yesterday, to-day, to-morrow.

      Rosalind: Dawson!

      Ryder: What?

      Rosalind: I wonder if you know you love me.

      Ryder: (Startled) What—Oh—you know you’re remarkable!

      Rosalind: Because you know I’m an awful proposition. Any one who marries me will have his hands full. I’m mean—mighty mean.

      Ryder: Oh, I wouldn’t say that.

      Rosalind: Oh, yes, I am—especially to the people nearest to me. (She rises.) Come, let’s go. I’ve changed my mind and I want to dance. Mother is probably having a fit.

      (Exeunt. Enter Alec and Cecelia.)

      Cecelia: Just my luck to get my own brother for an intermission.

      Alec: (Gloomily) I’ll go if you want me to.

      Cecelia: Good heavens, no—with whom would I begin the next dance? (Sighs.) There’s no color in a dance since the French officers went back.

      Alec: (Thoughtfully) I don’t want Amory to fall in love with Rosalind.

      Cecelia: Why, I had an idea that that was just what you did want.

      Alec: I did, but since seeing these girls—I don’t know. I’m awfully attached to Amory. He’s sensitive and I don’t want him to break his heart over somebody who doesn’t care about him.

      Cecelia: He’s very good looking.

      Alec: (Still thoughtfully) She won’t marry him, but a girl doesn’t have to marry a man to break his heart.

      Cecelia: What does it? I wish I knew the secret.

      Alec: Why, you cold-blooded little kitty. It’s lucky for some that the Lord gave you a pug nose.

      (Enter Mrs. Connage.)

      Mrs. Connage: Where on earth is Rosalind?

      Alec: (Brilliantly) Of course you’ve come to the best people to find out. She’d naturally be with us.

      Mrs. Connage: Her father has marshalled eight bachelor millionaires to meet her.

      Alec: You might form a squad and march through the halls.

      Mrs. Connage: I’m perfectly serious—for all I know she may be at the Cocoanut Grove with some football player on the night of her début. You look left and I’ll—— Alec: (Flippantly) Hadn’t you better send the butler through the cellar?

      Mrs. Connage: (Perfectly serious) Oh, you don’t think she’d be there?

      Cecelia: He’s only joking, mother.

      Alec: Mother had a picture of her tapping a keg of beer with some high hurdler.

      Mrs. Connage: Let’s look right away.

      (They go out. Rosalind comes in with Gillespie.)

      Gillespie: Rosalind—Once more I ask you. Don’t you care a blessed thing about me?

      (Amory walks in briskly.)

      Amory: My dance.

      Rosalind: Mr. Gillespie, this is Mr. Blaine.

      Gillespie: I’ve met Mr. Blaine. From Lake Geneva, aren’t you?

      Amory: Yes.

      Gillespie: (Desperately) I’ve been there. It’s in the—the Middle West, isn’t it?

      Amory: (Spicily) Approximately. But I always felt that I’d rather be provincial hot-tamale than soup without seasoning.

      Gillespie: What!

      Amory: Oh, no offense.

      (Gillespie bows and leaves.)

      Rosalind: He’s too much people.

      Amory: I was in love with a people once.

      Rosalind: So?

      Amory: Oh, yes—her name was Isabelle—nothing at all to her except what I read into her.

      Rosalind: What happened?

      Amory: Finally I convinced her that she was smarter than I was—then she threw me over. Said I was critical and impractical, you know.

      Rosalind: What do you mean impractical?

      Amory: Oh—drive a car, but can’t change a tire.

      Rosalind: What are you going to do?

      Amory: Can’t say—run for President, write——

      Rosalind: Greenwich Village?

      Amory: Good heavens, no—I said write—not drink.

      Rosalind: I like business men. Clever men are usually so homely.

      Amory: I feel as if I’d known you for ages.

      Rosalind: Oh, are you going to commence the “pyramid” story?

      Amory: No—I was going to make it French. I was Louis Xiv and you were one of my—my—(Changing his tone.) Suppose—we fell in love.

      Rosalind: I ve suggested pretending.

      Amory: If we did it would be very big.

      Rosalind: Why?

      Amory: Because selfish people are in a way terribly capable of great loves.

      Rosalind: СКАЧАТЬ