he case of
"The Rose of America," the ensemble--sit round a piano and endeavour,
with the assistance of the musical director, to get the words and
melodies of the first-act numbers into their heads. This done, they
are ready for the dance director to instil into them the steps, the
groupings, and the business for the encores, of which that incurable
optimist always seems to expect there will be at least six. Later, the
principals are injected into the numbers. And finally, leaving Bryant
Hall and dodging about from one unoccupied theatre to another,
principals and chorus rehearse together, running through the entire
piece over and over again till the opening night of the preliminary
road tour.

To Jill, in the early stages, rehearsing was just like being back at
school. She could remember her first schoolmistress, whom the musical
director somewhat resembled in manner and appearance, hammering out
hymns on a piano and leading in a weak soprano an eager, baying pack
of children, each anxious from motives of pride to out-bawl her
nearest neighbour.

The proceedings began on the first morning with the entrance of Mr.
Saltzburg, the musical director, a brisk, busy little man with
benevolent eyes behind big spectacles, who bustled over to the piano,
sat down, and played a loud chord, designed to act as a sort of bugle
blast, rallying the ladies of the ensemble from the corners where they
sat in groups, chatting. For the process of making one another's
acquaintance had begun some ten minutes before with mutual
recognitions between those who knew each other from having been
together in previous productions. There followed rapid introductions
of friends. Nelly Bryant had been welcomed warmly by a pretty girl
with red hair, whom she introduced to Jill as Babe; Babe had a willowy
blonde friend, named Lois, and the four of them had seated themselves
on one of the benches and opened a conversation; their numbers being
added to a moment later by a dark girl with a Southern accent and
another blonde. Elsewhere other groups had formed, and the room was
filled with a noise like the chattering of starlings. In a body by
themselves, rather forlorn and neglected, half a dozen solemn and
immaculately dressed young men were propping themselves up against
the wall and looking on, like men in a ball-room who do not dance.

Jill listened to the conversation without taking any great part in it
herself. She felt as she had done on her first