When you come to examine her, the only thing really Madonna-like about Mrs. Harvey Richmount Taylour is her way of doing her hair. It's parted in the middle, and folds softly down in brown wings on either side of rather a high forehead, white enough to match her drawing-room. She has gently curved eyebrows, too; but under them her dark eyes are as bright and sharp as a fox-terrier's. She has pale skin, red lips, and thin features, with a stick-out chin, cut on the same pattern as Mrs. Ess Kay's though it isn't as square yet, because she is years younger--perhaps not more than twenty-eight. Mrs. Ess Kay introduced us, in a more precise way than we have at home, and Mrs. Taylour said that she was very happy to meet me, which I should have thought particularly kind, if I hadn't found out that it's a sort of formula which Americans think it polite to use. She talked to me a good deal, and wanted to know how I liked America, of course; I was sure she would do that. Then Mrs. Ess Kay explained that I was interested in her apartment being up so high, and thought her plucky to live in it before the house was finished. This amused Mrs. Taylour very much. "We are just thankful to be in it," she said. "I was tired out with housekeeping, the servant question is too awful." "I see you've a trained nurse-maid for Rosemary," said Mrs. Ess Kay. "We met them going out." "Isn't Rosemary a pet?" Mrs. Taylour asked me, as if she were speaking of somebody else's little girl. "Sweet," I said. "Has she been ill?" "No. Do you think she looks delicate?" "It was the hospital nurse----" I began; but Mrs. Taylour laughed. "Oh, I suppose that _would_ strike you as funny. But we often have them for our children. We poor New York women have so much to do socially, we have to be relieved of _all_ feeling of responsibility, if we don't want to come down with nervous prostration. I shall hang onto this same nurse for years if she'll stay; she's _so_ good, and only ten dollars a week. When Rosemary grows up and comes out, she will be her maid, you know, Lady Betty. Do you ever have trained nurse-maids in England?" "No," I said. "Fancy!" "Oh, it's a splendid thing for a girl--nothing like it. You see the woman looks after her like a maid and a nurse both; makes sure her bath's the right temperature, takes care of her if she gets the grippe; sits up and gives her beef tea or chocolate after balls, massages her, and things like that. I used to have one myself, but a woman after she's married is different from a Bud. She _must_ have a French woman for her hair if she respects herself." I said meekly that I supposed so; and then Mrs. Taylour left me to myself for a few minutes, while she talked to Mrs. Ess Kay. They compared notes about appendicitis, which they called the fashionable complaint, and Mrs. Taylour suddenly exclaimed: