confidence that she WAS the real thing. All her dealings with me
and all her husband's were an implication that this was lucky for
ME. Meanwhile I found myself trying to invent types that
approached her own, instead of making her own transform itself--in
the clever way that was not impossible for instance to poor Miss
Churm. Arrange as I would and take the precautions I would, she
always came out, in my pictures, too tall--landing me in the
dilemma of having represented a fascinating woman as seven feet
high, which (out of respect perhaps to my own very much scantier
inches) was far from my idea of such a personage.

The case was worse with the Major--nothing I could do would keep
HIM down, so that he became useful only for the representation of
brawny giants. I adored variety and range, I cherished human
accidents, the illustrative note; I wanted to characterise closely,
and the thing in the world I most hated was the danger of being
ridden by a type. I had quarrelled with some of my friends about
it; I had parted company with them for maintaining that one HAD to
be, and that if the type was beautiful--witness Raphael and
Leonardo--the servitude was only a gain. I was neither Leonardo
nor Raphael--I might only be a presumptuous young modern searcher;
but I held that everything was to be sacrificed sooner than
character. When they claimed that the obsessional form could
easily BE character I retorted, perhaps superficially, "Whose?" It
couldn't be everybody's--it might end in being nobody's.

After I had drawn Mrs. Monarch a dozen times I felt surer even than
before that the value of such a model as Miss Churm resided
precisely in the fact that she had no positive stamp, combined of
course with the other fact that what she did have was a curious and