He coaxed and flattered and flustered Miss Pond into standing beside “Pitty Sing,” so that the children could see what a vast difference there was in their height. And somehow he had attracted the attention of a carnival employe, for before he had exhausted the possibilities of the midget as a diversion, Winfield Bybee himself came striding into the Palace of Wonders, mounted the midget’s platform and, after a moment’s whispered conference with Gus, made an announcement: “Children, I’m old Pop Bybee; Winfield Bybee is the way it’s wrote down in the Bible. I own this carnival and I want to tell you children that I’m proud to have you as my guests. I love children, always did! Now, boys and girls, the Ferris wheel and the whip and the merry-go-rounds are waiting for you.” He was interrupted by a whoop of joy from the boys, in which the girls joined more timidly. “It won’t cost you a cent. If your chaperon—” and he turned to Miss Pond with a courtly bow—“will do me the honor to accept these tickets, you’ll all have a ride on the Ferris wheel, the whip and the merry-go-round absolutely free. Don’t crowd now, children, but gather at the door of the tent. I thank you.” When he sprang, rather stiffly, from the platform, he offered Miss Pond his hand, then, with her arm pressed to his side, he escorted her with pompous courtesy to the door of the tent, where the children were already milling about, wild with excitement. In her terror Sally had forgotten the golden-haired woman in the green silk sports suit. Now that the danger was passing, miraculously averted by Gus and Pop Bybee, she started to draw a deep, trembling sigh of relief, but it was choked in her throat by the discovery that she was being regarded intently by the beautiful woman, who was standing beside the midget’s platform. “Oh!” Sally thought in a new flutter of terror. “She heard Betsy call me Sally Ford. She’s going to question me. I wonder who she is. Maybe she’s a trustee’s wife—oh, she’s coming! She’s going to talk to me—” She rose from her high-backed, gilded chair, trying to do so without haste. Since the performance was ended she had every right to leave the tent, and she would do so, but she mustn’t run. She mustn’t give herself away— “Hel-lo, Enid! I couldn’t believe my eyes! What in the world are you doing so far from Park Avenue?” Sally, forcing herself to walk with sedate leisureliness down the little wooden steps of the platform, saw the New Yorker who had been paying her half-mocking, half admiring attention all afternoon, stride swiftly and gracefully across the tent toward the golden-haired woman. So he too had witnessed Betsy’s hysterical identification! She had forgotten that he was in the tent, watching her, smiling mockingly, biding his chance to ask her again to go to supper with him after the last show that night.