looked as if she'd really got
her foot on the ladder.)

Well, as I said, Rose was immensely pleased about it--for the girl, who
certainly deserved a little good luck at last; for herself, whose
judgment had been vindicated, and for the show, to the success of which
the experiment had contributed. But she'd have been a good deal better
pleased if Olga could have taken her success as simply her own, instead
of being so adoringly grateful to Rose about it. Olga had been adoring
her with a somewhat embarrassing intensity ever since the night she had
locked her in her room and taught her to talk.

Rose had convicted herself here of a failure in human sympathy, and had
done her best to correct it, without much avail. The stubborn fact was
that, wishing Olga all the good fortune in the world, and being willing
to take any amount of trouble to bring it about, she didn't particularly
like her. And she flinched involuntarily, from the girl's more romantic
and sentimental manifestations. This distaste had been heightened by the
fact that along with Olga's adoration had gone a sense of
proprietorship, with its inevitable accompaniment of jealousy.

Olga bridled every time she found Rose chatting with another member of
the chorus, and when, up in Milwaukee, Patricia had invited her, along
with Anabel, to come up to her room for a little supper after rehearsal,
Olga had been sulky and injured for the whole of the next day.

It was something deeper in Rose than a mere surface distaste that made
all this--the caresses, as well as the sulky exactions--repellent to
her. And to-night, with her mind full of Rodney--full of that strange
hope that disguised itself as fear, the repulsion was stronger than
ever. She made an effort to conquer it. It would be a shame to throw a
wet blanket on the girl's attempt to enjoy her triumph in her own way.

So Rose kissed her and told her how pleased she was, and good-humoredly
forbore to disclaim, except as her wide smile did it for her, Olga's
extravagant protestations of undying love and gratitude. Rose injected
common-sense considerations where she could. Olga had better get out of
that frock before she ruined it with grease paint, and unless she at
least began to dress pretty soon she'd find herself locked up for the
night in the theater.

"I wouldn't care," Olga said. "You'd be locked up, too. Because you
aren't any further along than I am."

"I'm going to be, though," said Rose, "in about