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The test he had applied wasn't, from that point of view,
unnecessarily cruel. The girl he had taken her for, would, on being
ordered to repeat that grotesque bit of vulgarity of his, have drawn her
dignity about her like a cloak, and gone back in a chastened spirit to
the world where she belonged.
A gorgeous apparition came sweeping by them just now, on a line from the
dressing-room to the door--a figure that, with regal deliberation, was
closing a blue broadcloth coat, trimmed with sable, over an authentic
Callot frock. The Georgette hat on top of it was one that Rose had last
seen in a Michigan Avenue shop. She had amused herself by trying to
vizualize the sort of person who ought to buy it. It had found its
proper buyer at last--fulfilled its destiny.
"Oh, Grant!" said John Galbraith.
The queenly creature stopped short and Rose recognized her with a jump,
as the sulky chorus-girl. Dressed like this, her twenty pounds of
surplus fat didn't show.
Galbraith walked over to her.


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