refully
scraping off the surface of the film where the cheekbone projected with
a sharp knife. There are also in real life little lines between the
corner of our Minnie's mouth and her nostril. And again, Minnie is one
of those people whose dresses never seem to fit, but this fits like a
glove. These retouchers are like Midas, and they turn all that comes
to their hands to gold; or, like Spring, the flowers come back at their
approach. They reverse the work of Ithuriel, and restore brightness to
the fallen. They sit at their little desks, and scratch, scratch,
scratch with those delicate pencils of theirs, scratching away age,
scratching away care, making the crooked straight, and the rough
smooth. They are the fairies of photography, and fill our albums with
winsome changelings. Their ministry anticipates in a little way the
angels who will take us when we die, releasing us from the worn and
haggard body of this death, and showing something of the eternal life
and youth that glows within. Or one might say that the spirit of the
retoucher is the spirit of Love. It makes plain women beautiful, and
common men heroic. Her regal fingers touch for the evil of
ungainliness, and, behold, we are restored. Her pencil is like the
Queen's sword, and it makes knights out of common men.

"When I have my photograph taken," said my uncle, "I always like to
think of the retoucher. I idealise her; I fancy her with the sweetest
eyes I have ever seen, and an expression infinitely soft and tender.
And she looks closely into my face, and her little pencil goes gently
and lovingly over my features. Tickle, tickle. In that way, George, I
get a really very nice expression indeed." My uncle turned to his own
presentment, and mused pleasantly for a space. Then he looked again at
Mrs Harborough as if inadvertently, and asked her name.

"I like this newer way of taking your photograph, against a mere grey
background; just the head of you. One should always beware of the
property furniture of the photographer. In the seventies they were
great at such aids--a pedestal, a cork rustic stile, wide landscape in
the distance, but I think that we are at least getting beyond that now.
People in those days must have been afraid to be left alone before a
camera, or they wanted it to seem that they were taken unawares, quite
against their modesty--did not know what the camera was, and were just
looking at it. A very favourite pose for girl