The chorus was similarly constituted. There were fifteen girls in it,
including the sextette, now a trio, part of them worn-out veterans (one
of these was the duchess--do you remember her?--who had applied to
Galbraith for a job the day that Rose got hers) and the others green
young girls, not more than sixteen or seventeen, some of them, who had
never been on the stage before. It was one of these, a tiny, slim,
black-haired little thing, who gave her name as Dolly Darling, but
hadn't memorized it yet herself, obviously a runaway in quest of
romantic adventure, whom Rose adopted as a permanent roommate.
Her doing so opened up the breach between herself and Olga Larson. It
had existed, beneath the surface, ever since the night she had gone to
supper with Galbraith. It wasn't that Olga believed Rose had taken
Galbraith as a lover. She hadn't believed that even when she hurled the
accusation against her. The wounding thing was that Rose seemed not to
care whether she believed it or not; had met her tempestuous pleas for
forgiveness and her offers of unlimited love and faith "whatever Rose
might do and however things might look," with a cold distaste that
hardly differed from the feeling she had shown in response to the
tempest of angry accusation.
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