Somewhat early in the afternoon he went up to Campden Hill.  Lady Adela was at home.  He noticed that the man-servant who ushered him into the drawing-room was very slow and circumspect about it, as if he wished to give ample warning to those within; and, indeed, just as he had come into the hall, he had fancied he heard a faint shriek, which startled him not a little.  When he now entered the room he found Miss Georgie Lestrange standing in the middle of the floor, while Lady Adela was seated at a small writing-table a little way off.  They both greeted him in the most friendly fashion; and then Miss Georgie (a little embarrassed, as he imagined) went towards the French window and looked out into the wintry garden.

“You have come most opportunely, Mr. Moore,” said Lady Adela, in her pleasant way.  “I’m sure you’ll be able to tell us:  how high would a woman naturally throw her arms on coming suddenly on a dead body?”

He was somewhat staggered.

“I—­I’m sure I don’t know.”

“You see, Georgie has been so awfully kind to me this morning,” Lady Adela continued.  “I have arrived at some very dramatic scenes in my new story, and she has been good enough to act as my model; I want to have everything as vivid as possible; and why shouldn’t a writer have a model as well as a painter; I hope to have all the attitudes strictly correct—­to describe even the tone of her shriek when she comes upon the dead body of her brother.  Imagination first, then actuality of detail; Rose tells me that Mr. Mellord, after he has finished a portrait, won’t put in a blade of grass or a roseleaf without having it before him.  If there’s to be a crust of bread on the table, he must have the crust of bread.”

“Yes, but Mr. Moore,” said Miss Georgie, coming suddenly back from the window—­and she was blushing furiously, up to the roots of her pretty golden-red hair, and covertly laughing at the same time, “my difficulty is that I try to do my best as the woman who unexpectedly sees her dead brother before her; but I’ve got nothing to come and go on.  I never saw a dead body in my life; and it would hardly do to try it with a real dead body—­”

“Georgie, don’t be horrid!” Lady Adela said, severely.  “Here is Mr. Moore, who can tell you how high the hands should be held, and whether they should be clenched or open.”

“Well, Lady Adela,” he said, in his confusion (for he was in mortal terror lest she should ask him to get up and posture before her), “the fact is that on the stage there are so many ways of expressing fear or dismay that no two people would probably adopt the same gestures.  Would you have her hands above her head?  Wouldn’t it be more natural for her to have them about the height of her shoulders—­the elbows drawn tightly back—­her palms uplifted as if to shut away the terrible sight?—­”

“Yes, yes!” said Lady Adela, eagerly; and she quickly scribbled some notes on the paper before her.  “The very thing!—­the very thing!”