That's where all her thoughts were when John Galbraith halted her on the way to the dressing-room after the performance was over.
CHAPTER IX
THE MAN AND THE DIRECTOR
He said, "I want a talk with you," and she, thinking he meant then and there, glanced about for a corner where they'd be tolerably secure against the charging rushes of grips, property men and electricians, all racing against time to get the third act struck and the first one set and make their escape from the theater.
"Oh, I don't mean here in this bedlam," he explained with a tinge of impatience. And then his manner changed. "I'd like, for once, a chance to sit down with you where it's—quiet and we don't have to feel in a hurry." He added, a second later, answering a shade of what he took to be doubt or hesitation in her face, "You're frightfully tired I know. If you'd rather wait till to-morrow ..."
"Oh, it wasn't that," said Rose. "I was just trying to think where a place was where one could be quiet and needn't hurry and where two people could talk."
He smiled. "You can leave that to me," he said. "That is, if you don't mind a restaurant and a little supper."
"Of course I don't mind," she said. "I'd like it very much."