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 perceived more clearly
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
inexplicable talent for imitation. Her usual appearance was like a
curtain which she could draw up at request for a capital performance.
This performance was simply suggestive; but it was a word to the
wise--it was vivid and pretty. Sometimes, even, I thought it, though
she was plain herself, too insipidly pretty; I made it a reproach to
her that the figures drawn from her were monotonously (betement, as
we used to say) graceful. Nothing made her more angry: it was so
much her pride to feel that she could sit for characters that had
nothing in common with each other. She would accuse me at such
moments of taking away her "reputytion."

It suffered a certain shrinkage, this queer quantity, from the
repeated visits of my new friends. Miss Churm was greatly in demand,
never in want of employment, so I had no scruple in putting her off
occasionally, to try them more at my ease. It was certainly amusing
at first to do the real thing--it was amusing to do Major Monarch's
trousers. They WERE the real thing, even if he did come out
colossal. It was amusing to do his wife's back hair (it was so
mathematically neat,) and the particular "smart" tension of her tight
stays. She lent herself especially to positions in which the face
was somewhat averted or blurred; she abounded in lady-like back views
and profils perdus. When she stood erect she took naturally one of
the attitudes in which court-painters represent queens and