A singing team made their appearance and began to sing sentimental ballads concerned with apple blossoms in Normandy. Don's thoughts went back, strangely enough, to the white-tiled restaurant in the alley. He smiled as he contrived a possible title for a popular song of this same nature. "The White-Tiled Restaurant in the Alley" it might read, and it might have something to do with "Sally." Perhaps Miss Winthrop's first name was Sally--it fitted her well enough. She had been funny about that chocolate eclair. And she had lent him two dollars. Unusual incident, that! He wondered where she was to-night--where she went after she left the office at night. Perhaps she was here. He leaned forward to look at the faces of people in the audience. Then the singing stopped, and a group of Japanese acrobats occupied the stage. Frances turned, suppressing a yawn. "I suppose one of them will hang by his teeth in a minute," she observed. "I wish he wouldn't. It makes me ache." "It is always possible to leave," he suggested. "But Mother so enjoys the pictures." "Then, by all means, let's stay." "They always put them at the end. Oh, dear me, I don't think I shall ever come again." "I enjoyed the singing," he confessed. "Oh, Don, it was horrible!" "Still, that song about the restaurant in the alley--" "The _what?_" she exclaimed. "Wasn't it that or was it apple blossoms? Anyhow, it was good." "Of course there's no great difference between restaurants in alleys and apple blossoms in Normandy!" she commented. "Not so much as you'd think," he smiled. It was eleven before they were back at the house. Then Stuyvesant wanted a rarebit and Frances made it, so that it was after one before Don reached his own home. Not until Nora, in obedience to a note he had left downstairs for her, called him at seven-thirty the next morning did Don realize he had kept rather late hours for a business man. Bit by bit, the events of yesterday came back to him; and in the midst of it, quite the central figure, stood Miss Winthrop. It was as if she were warning him not to be late. He jumped from bed. But, even at that, it was a quarter-past eight before he came downstairs. Nora was anxiously waiting for him. "You did not order breakfast, sir," she reminded him. "Why, that's so," he admitted. "Shall I prepare it for you now?" "Never mind. I haven't time to wait, anyway. You see, I must be downtown at nine. I'm in business, Nora." "Yes, sir; but you should eat your breakfast, sir." He shook his head. "I think I'll try going without breakfast this week. Besides, I didn't send up any provisions." Nora appeared uneasy. She did not wish to be bold, and yet she did not wish her late master's son to go downtown hungry. "An egg and a bit of toast, sir? I'm sure the cook could spare that." "Out of her own breakfast?" "I--I beg your pardon, sir," stammered Nora; "but it's all part of the house, isn't it?" "No," he answered firmly. "We must play the game fair, Nora."