“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?”