FullReads

“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 around; 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 makeher–!” he reasoned, no without point.

“That’s the most you can ask. There are so many who are not makeable.”

“Well now, here’sa 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 shecan 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 dofor them!” my model humorously declared.”Ain’t they bad enough without her?” I had often sociably denounced them to Miss Churm.

Part III

It was for the elucidation of a mystery in one of these works that I first tried Mrs. Monarch. Her husband came with her, to be useful if necessary–it was sufficiently clear that as a general thing he would prefer to come with her. At first I wondered if this were for “propriety’s” sake–if he were going to be jealous and meddling. The idea was too tiresome, and if it had been confirmed it would speedily have brought our acquaintance to a close. But I soon saw there was nothing in it and that if he accompanied Mrs. Monarch it was–in addition to the chance of being wanted–simply because he had nothing else to do. When they were separate his occupation was gone and they never hadbeen separate. I judged rightly that in their awkward situation their close union was their main comfort and that this union had no weak spot. It was a real marriage, an encouragement to the hesitating, a nut for pessimists to crack. Their address was humble–I remember afterwards thinking it had been the only thing about them that was really professional–and I could fancy the lamentable lodgings in which the Major would have been left alone. He could sit there more or less grimly with his wife–he couldn’t sit there anyhow without her.