Certain it was that a very choice corner had been fitted up for said Katherine Wayneworth Jones.  People said that she belonged in her corner; that no one else could fit it, that she could not as well fit anywhere else.  But she was not at all sure that under the feather duster act that would give her the right of possession.  People were so stupid.  Just because they saw a person sitting in a place they held that was the place for that person to be sitting.  Katie almost wished that mighty “Shoo!” would indeed reverberate ’round the world.  It would be such fun to see them scamper and squirm.  And would there not be the keenest of satisfaction in finding out what sort of place one would fit up for one’s self if none had been fitted up for one in advance?

Few people were called upon to prove themselves.  Most people judged people as they judged pictures at an exhibition.  They went around with a catalogue and when they saw a good name they held that they saw a good picture.  And when they did not know the name, even though the picture pleased them, they waited around until they heard someone else saying good things, then they stood before it murmuring, “How lovely.”

She had put Ann in the catalogue; she had seen to it that she was properly hung, and she herself had stood before her proclaiming something rare and fine.  That meant that Ann was taken for granted.  And being taken for granted meant nine-tenths the battle.

It would be fun to fool the catalogue folks.  And she need have no compunctions about lowering the standard of art because the picture she had found out in the back room and surreptitiously hung in the night belonged in the gallery a great deal more than some of the pictures which had been solemnly carried in the front way.  It was the catalogue folks, rather than the lovers of art, were being imposed upon.

And Mrs. Prescott, though to be sure a maker of catalogues, was also a lover of art.  There lay Katie’s hope for her, and apology to her.

Though she was apprehensive, a stronger light was to be turned on—­that was indisputable.  “You and I know, dear Queen,” Katie confided to the member of her sex lying at her feet, “that men are not at all difficult.  You can get them to swallow most anything—­if the girl in the case is beautiful enough.  And feminine enough!  Masculine dotes on discovering feminine—­but have you ever noticed what the rest of the feminine dote on doing to that discovery?  Women can even look at wondrous soft brown eyes and lovely tender mouths through those ‘Who was your father?’ ‘specs’ they keep so well dusted.  The manner of holding a teacup is more important than the heart’s deep dreams.  When it comes to passing inspection, the soul’s not in it with the fork.  We know ’em—­don’t we, old Queen?”

Queen wagged concurrence, and Katie pulled herself sternly back to her letters.