It was all very well
to reflect with pitying amusement on the absurdities of the duchess. But
it was evident the duchess was waiting with a purpose like her own. She
meant to get a job in the chorus. Her rather touching ridiculousness as
a human being wouldn't stand in her way. It was likely that she had had
dozens of jobs in choruses before, knew exactly what would be wanted of
her, and was confident of her ability to deliver it.
As Rose's heart sank lower with the dragging minutes she even took into
account the possibility that the duchess had 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.
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