Gertrude was Abe Shuman’s confidential secretary and you can get a fairly good working notion of her by conceiving the type of person likely to be found in the borderland of theatrical enterprises, and then, in all respects, taking the exact antithesis of it.  She was a brisk, prim-mannered, snub-nosed little thing, who wore her hair brushed down as flat as possible and showed an affection for mannish clothes.  She had a level head, a keen and rather biting wit, which had the effect of making her constant acts of kindness always unexpected; and an education which, in her surroundings, seemed almost fantastic.  She was a Radcliff Master of Arts.

Every one who had any dealings with Abe Shuman perforce knew Gertrude, and Rose got acquainted with her the first day.  Galbraith introduced them in Shuman’s office, and Rose found herself being investigated by a bright, penetrating and decidedly complex look which she interpreted—­pretty accurately as she found out later—­as saying, “Well, you’re about what I expected; ornamental and enthusiastic; just what an otherwise sane and successful man of fifty would pick out for an ‘assistant.’  Aren’t they just children at that age!  But you’re welcome.  They deserve it.  Good luck to you!”

But when Rose returned the look with a comprehending smile which said good-naturedly, “All right!  You wait and see,” Gertrude’s expression altered into a frankly questioning frown.  Two or three days later she dropped in at a rehearsal, ostensibly with a message from Shuman to Galbraith.  He was on the point of leaving and had turned over the rehearsal to Rose.  Gertrude, when he had gone, settled down comfortably in the back of the auditorium and watched through a solid hour, obviously under instructions from Abe to bring back a report as to whether Galbraith’s infatuation should be tolerated or suppressed.  At the end of the hour, during a brief lull in the rehearsal, she came down the aisle and stopped beside Rose who still had her eye on the stage.

“I apologize,” she said.

Rose grinned around at her.  It was not necessary to ask what for.  “Much obliged,” she said.

“I didn’t know that a woman could do that,” Gertrude went on.  “Didn’t think she’d have the—­drive.  But you’ve got it, all right.  I don’t suppose you’ve got an idea when you’ll be free for lunch?”

Rose hadn’t, but it was not many days before they got together for that meal at a business woman’s club down on Fortieth Street, and from then on their acquaintance progressed rapidly.  She helped Rose find the little apartment on Thirteenth Street, entertaining her during the search with a highly instructive disquisition on the social topography of New York, and on the following Sunday she ran in, she said, to see if she could help her get settled.  There was no settling to do, but she sat down and talked—­most of the time—­for an hour or so.  It was a theory of Gertrude’s that the way to find out about people was to talk to them.