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She had
reasons of her own, this girl intimated, for wanting to work, despite
the possession of French clothes and the use of a limousine. Her
"friend," it seemed, needed to be taught some sort of lesson. Grant
would come around before to-morrow night, and eat enough humble pie to
induce Galbraith to take her back.
If this theory were sound, and it had a dreadful plausibility to Rose,
her only chance for keeping her job would be to do as well as Grant
could do, to-night, in this very first rehearsal; and she went out on
the stage in a perfect agony of determination. She must see everything,
hear everything; put all she knew and every ounce of energy she had,
into the endeavor to make John Galbraith forget that she was a recruit
at all.
The intensity of this preoccupation was a wonderful protection to her.
It kept away the sick disgust that had threatened her in the
dressing-room; prevented her even glancing ahead to a future that would,
had she taken to guessing about it, utterly have overwhelmed her.


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