"It's the Russian princess, don't you know?" I answered; "the one with the 'golden eyes,' in black velvet, for the long thing in the CHEAPSIDE." "Golden eyes? I SAY!" cried Miss Churm, while my companions watched her with intensity as she withdrew. She always arranged herself, when she was late, before I could turn round; and I kept my visitors a little on purpose, so that they might get an idea, from seeing her, what would be expected of themselves. I mentioned that she was quite my notion of an excellent model--she was really very clever. "Do you think she looks like a Russian princess?" Major Monarch asked with lurking alarm. "When I make her, yes." "Oh if you have to MAKE her--!" he reasoned, not without point. "That's the most you can ask. There are so many who are not makeable." "Well now, HERE'S a lady"--and with a persuasive smile he passed his arm into his wife's--"who's already made!" "Oh I'm not a Russian princess," Mrs. Monarch protested a little coldly. I could see she had known some and didn't like them. There at once was a complication of a kind I never had to fear with Miss Churm. This young lady came back in black velvet--the gown was rather rusty and very low on her lean shoulders--and with a Japanese fan in her red hands. I reminded her that in the scene I was doing she had to look over some one's head. "I forget whose it is but it doesn't matter. Just look over a head." "I'd rather look over a stove," said Miss Churm and she took her station near the fire. She fell into Position, settled herself into a tall attitude, gave a certain backward inclination to her head and a certain forward droop to her fan, and looked, at least to my prejudiced sense, distinguished and charming, foreign and dangerous. We left her looking so while I went downstairs with Major and Mrs. Monarch. "I believe I could come about as near it as that," said Mrs. Monarch. "Oh you think she's shabby, but you must allow for the alchemy of art." However, they went off with an evident increase of comfort founded on their demonstrable advantage in being the real thing. I could fancy them shuddering over Miss Churm. She was very droll about them when I went back, for I told her what they wanted. "Well, if SHE can sit I'll tyke to bookkeeping," said my model. "She's very ladylike," I replied as an innocent form of aggravation. "So much the worse for YOU. That means she can't turn round." "She'll do for the fashionable novels." "Oh yes, she'll DO for them!" my model humorously declared. "Ain't they bad enough without her?" I had often sociably denounced them to Miss Churm. CHAPTER III