"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 ail 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.