I could take his measure at a glance--he was six feet two and a
perfect gentleman. It would have paid any club in process of
formation and in want of a stamp to engage him at a salary to stand
in the principal window. What struck me at once was that in coming
to me they had rather missed their vocation; they could surely have
been turned to better account for advertising purposes. I couldn't
of course see the thing in detail, but I could see them make
somebody's fortune--I don't mean their own. There was something in
them for a waistcoat-maker, an hotel-keeper or a soap-vendor. I
could imagine "We always use it" pinned on their bosoms with the
greatest effect; I had a vision of the brilliancy with which they
would launch a table d'hote.

Mrs. Monarch sat still, not from pride but from shyness, and
presently her husband said to her: "Get up, my dear, and show how
smart you are." She obeyed, but she had no need to get up to show
it. She walked to the end of the studio and then came back
blushing, her fluttered eyes on the partner of her appeal. I was
reminded of an incident I had accidentally had a glimpse of in
Paris--being with a friend there, a dramatist about to produce a
play, when an actress came to him to ask to be entrusted with a
part. She went through her paces before him, walked up and down as
Mrs. Monarch was doing. Mrs. Monarch did it quite as well, but I
abstained from applauding. It was very odd to see such people
apply for such poor pay. She looked as if she had ten thousand a
year. Her husband had used the word that described her: she was
in the London current jargon essentially and typically "smart."
Her figure was, in the same order of ideas, conspicuously and
irreproachably "good." For a woman of her age her waist was