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.