Jill’s composure was now completely restored. This interview was turning out so totally different from anything she had expected. The atmosphere was cosy and social. She felt as if she were back in Ovington Square, giving tea to Freddie Rooke and Ronny Devereux and the rest of her friends of the London period. All that was needed to complete the picture was a tea-table in front of her. The business note hardly intruded on the proceedings at all. Still, as business was the object of her visit, she felt that she had better approach it.
“I came for work.”
“Work!” cried Mr Pilkington. He, too, appeared to be regarding the interview as purely of a social nature.
“In the chorus,” explained Jill.
Mr Pilkington seemed shocked. He winced away from the word as though it pained him.
“There is no chorus in ‘The Rose of America,’” he said.
“I thought it was a musical comedy.”
Mr Pilkington winced again.
“It is a musical fantasy!” he said. “But there will be no chorus. We shall have,” he added, a touch of rebuke in his voice, “the services of twelve refined ladies of the ensemble.”
Jill laughed.