In her lawsuit, Ms. Waterbury charges that the men used degrading language. She says that Mr. Finlay wrote to Mr. Catazaro that the age of 18 is “prime time for women” and, he goes on, “It might sound creepy but 18 is the age of consent for a reason.”

Mr. Catazaro’s reply, according to the suit, “Word up bro, 18-22.”

That’s among the tamer exchanges in Ms. Waterbury’s lawsuit. How at ease would a dancer, novice or veteran, wearing little more than a leotard, tights and point shoes, feel with partners who are accused of talking like this?

Ms. Waterbury’s suit makes reference to the company’s “fraternity-like atmosphere”; Mr. Catazaro and Mr. Finlay have been setting off my bro alarm for months. In performances, I noticed careless partnering as they took to the stage with puffed-out chests. In November, Mr. Catazaro posted on Instagram a photo of Mr. Finlay and himself at a restaurant with the caption, “When you’ve got classic Bond and contemporary Bond enjoying a night out.” Mr. Catazaro was in crisp white jacket sipping what seemed to be a martini; Mr. Finlay wore blue velvet. It was almost self-parody.

A boys-will-be-boys defense has no place anywhere, but it’s particularly disturbing in ballet, where the vulnerability of a dancer’s body is heightened every day. While the culture surrounding ballet is frequently misunderstood — it’s not the back-stabbing horror depicted in a film like “Black Swan” — there are elements that can’t be escaped. Dancers, self-critical by nature, face a mirror that lets them know that they will never be perfect no matter how hard they try.

They are also raised in a culture in which they’re expected to behave as grown-ups even when they aren’t. As apprentices and new members of City Ballet — or just about any ballet company in America — they’re barely legal adults. They aren’t fully realized. Part of the joy in watching ballet over time is to see a dancer transform from a girl into a woman — or a boy to a man — and emerge self-possessed and strong.

Ballet, like balance, is an illusion. Standing still on point is not a static act, but a flurry of micro-muscles working in tandem to make a body float. Days and years disappear as dancers train to hide the effort behind their superhuman strength. They have enough pressure; what’s exciting is that the dancers at City Ballet don’t have to live in a horror movie any longer. They can focus on grace.