Lee Schoenstein was standing at the table, and by his side an expectant youth with a small moustache and pince-nez. Sally got up, and the next moment Ginger was alone, gaping perplexedly after her as she vanished and reappeared in the jogging throng on the dancing floor. It was the nearest thing Ginger had seen to a conjuring trick, and at that moment he was ill-attuned to conjuring tricks. He brooded, fuming, at what seemed to him the supremest exhibition of pure cheek, of monumental nerve, and of undiluted crust that had ever come within his notice. To come and charge into a private conversation like that and whisk her away without a word... “Who was that blighter?” he demanded with heat, when the music ceased and Sally limped back. “That was Mr. Schoenstein.” “And who was the other?” “The one I danced with? I don't know.” “You don't know?” Sally perceived that the conversation had arrived at an embarrassing point. There was nothing for it but candour. “Ginger,” she said, “you remember my telling you when we first met that I used to dance in a Broadway place? This is the place. I'm working again.” Complete unintelligence showed itself on Ginger's every feature. “I don't understand,” he said--unnecessarily, for his face revealed the fact. “I've got my old job back.” “But why?” “Well, I had to do something.” She went on rapidly. Already a light dimly resembling the light of understanding was beginning to appear in Ginger's eyes. “Fillmore went smash, you know--it wasn't his fault, poor dear. He had the worst kind of luck--and most of my money was tied up in his business, so you see...” She broke off confused by the look in his eyes, conscious of an absurd feeling of guilt. There was amazement in that look and a sort of incredulous horror. “Do you mean to say...” Ginger gulped and started again. “Do you mean to tell me that you let me have... all that money... for the dog-business... when you were broke? Do you mean to say...” Sally stole a glance at his crimson face and looked away again quickly. There was an electric silence.