Determination triumphed.  The number was concluded to John Galbraith’s evident satisfaction.  “Very good,” he said.  “If you’ll all do exactly what you did that time from now on, I’ll not complain.”  Without a pause he went on, “Everybody on the stage—­big girls—­all the big girls!” And, to the young man at the piano, “We’ll do Afternoon Tea.”  There was a momentary pause then, filled with subdued chatter, while the girls and men re-alined themselves for the new number—­a pause taken advantage of by an exceedingly blond young man to scramble up on the stage and make a few remarks to the director.  He was the musical director, Rose found out afterward.  Galbraith, to judge from his attitude, gave his colleague’s remarks about twenty-five per cent. of his attention, keeping his eye all the while on the chorus, to see that they got their initial formation correctly.  Rose looked them over, too.  The girls weren’t, on an average, extravagantly beautiful, though, with the added charm of make-up allowed for, there were no doubt many the audiences would consider so.  What struck Rose most emphatically about them, was their youth and spirit.  How long they had been rehearsing this afternoon she didn’t know.  But now, when they might have gone slack and silent, they pranced and giggled instead and showed a disposition to lark about, which evidently would have carried them a good deal further but for the restraining presence of the director.  They were dressed in pretty much anything that would allow perfect freedom to their bodies; especially their arms and legs; bathing suits mostly, or middy-blouses and bloomers.  Rose noted this with satisfaction.  Her old university gymnasium costume would do perfectly.  Anything, apparently, would do, because as her eye adjusted itself to details, she discovered romper suits, pinafores, chemises, overalls—­all equally taken for granted.  There weren’t nearly so many chorus men as girls.  She couldn’t be sure just how many there were, because they couldn’t be singled out.  As they wore no distinctly working costume, merely took off their coats, waistcoats and collars, they weren’t distinguishable from most of the staff, who, with the exception of the director, garbed themselves likewise.

Galbraith dismissed the musical director with a nod, struck his hands together for silence, and scrutinized the now motionless group on the stage.

“We’re one shy,” he said.  “Who’s missing?” And then answered his own question:  “Grant!” He wheeled around and his eyes searched the hall.

Rose became aware for the first time, that a mutter of conversation had been going on incessantly since she had come in, in one of the recessed window-seats behind her.  Now, when Galbraith’s gaze plunged in that direction, she turned and looked too.  A big blonde chorus-girl was in there with a man, a girl, who, with twenty pounds trained off her, and that sulky look out of her face, would have been a beauty.  She had roused herself with a sort of defiant deliberation at the sound of the director’s voice, but she still had her back to him and went on talking to the man.