He could imagine the sort of test Galbraith had put her to before giving
her a job at all. He'd seen inexperienced girls applying for positions
in the chorus. He knew the sort of work that lay behind her advancement
to the sextette. He knew that her presence there on the stage of the
Globe the opening night, unrecognized by any one in the company as
anybody except Doris Dane of nowhere, represented a solid achievement
that a girl with Rose's background and training might be proud of.
For Jimmy it had stamped her, once and for all, as sterling metal; as
one who, however mistaken her judgments, or misguided her
actions--admitting for the sake of argument that they were
misguided--must be taken seriously; admitted to be the real thing. She'd
given indisputable guarantees of good faith.
There was no good, of course, getting warm over the flippant cynicisms
of her former friends. There was no use even in trying to make them
understand how the thing looked to him. But there crystallized in him a
wish that he might some day see Rose's critics fluttering about her and,
as it were, eating out of her hand.
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