spoken the truth about John
Galbraith's "partic'lar friend." Just the mention of a name might settle
the whole business. Then her spirits went down another five degrees.
Here she had been assuming all along that there was a job for either of
them to get! But it was quite likely there was not. The chorus looked
complete enough; there was no visible gap in the ranks crying aloud for
a recruit.

When at last, a little after six o'clock, Galbraith said, "Quarter to
eight, everybody," and dismissed them with a nod for a scurry to what
were evidently dressing-rooms at the other side of the ball, the ship of
Rose's hopes had utterly gone to pieces. She had a plank to keep herself
afloat on. It was the determination to stay there until he should tell
her in so many words that he hadn't any use for her and under no
conceivable circumstances ever would have.

The deprecatory young man was talking to him now, about her and the
duchess evidently, for he peered out into the hall to see if they were
still there; then vaulted down from the stage and came toward them.

The duchess got up, and with a good deal of manner, went over to meet
him. Rose felt outmaneuvered here. She should have gone to meet him
herself, but a momentary paralysis kept her in her chair. She didn't
hear what the duchess said. The manner of it was confidential, in marked
protest against the proximity of a handful of other people--the blond
musical director, the thick pianist in his undershirt, a baby-faced man
in round tortoise-shell spectacles, three or four of the chorus people,
each of whom had serious matters to bring before the director's
attention.

But all the confidences, it seemed, were on the side of the duchess.
Because, when John Galbraith answered her, his voice easily filled
the room. "You tell Mr. Pike, if that's his name, that I'm very much
obliged to him, but we haven't any vacancies in the chorus at present.
If you care to, leave your name and address with Mr. Quan, the assistant
stage manager; then if we find we need you, we can let you know."

[Illustration: "I want a job in the chorus."]

He said it not unkindly, but he exercised some power of making it
evident that as he finished speaking, the duchess, for him, simply
ceased to exist. Anything she might say or do thereafter, would be so
much effort utterly wasted.

The duchess drew herself up and walked away.

And Rose? Well, the one thing she wanted passionately to do just then,
w