Mathieu Young/The CW

Models today are kind of like children in the Victorian Era. To the grownups who run the fashion industry, they’re meant to be seen, not heard.

America’s Next Top Model reaches consistently thrilling creative heights by turning that truism on its head.  It’s a simple concept: Mic up some models, set them loose, and listen in.  With any luck, you can then grace the airwaves with bons mots that would turn even Wilde green with envy; for example, “Stank ho poured beer on my weave.”

As I discussed in my previous recap, though, Our Jane of Princeton is a special case: the more she’s shown talking, the worse she does.  Last week, a sudden case of the chatters set her up for a brush with elimination.

In tonight’s episode, Our Jane happily returned to her more circumspect ways, and her relative silence proved, if not golden, then at least good enough to grab the silver: her photoshoot with legendary Vogue photographer Patrick Demarchelier earned her the second callout to safety during judging panel.

And oh did angels weep with joy!

Lord knows I could testify ’till the sun goes down about Jane Randall Twelve’s miraculous redemption this cold autumn night; I could wax rhapsodic about the celestial fire in her eyes, the ethereal lightness of her posing; I could sing ’till hoarseness of Demarchelier’s holy encouragement, sacred as a blessing from the Pope on Christmas.