How could she have thought for a moment that she cared a thing about him--he was horrible and rough and as American as--as--a typewriter! What _made_ her care about such a man? She wouldn't have, if it had not been for Marise. It was Marise's fault. She never would have dreamed of looking at him if she hadn't seen that first evening at Donna Antonia Pierleoni's soiree that Marise had lost her head over him. That made her curious about him of course, and somehow before she knew it something about his eyes or smile--oh, it _was_ as if she were bewitched that he should make her feel so, make her want and want and want till she ached, to have him look at her--and all the time he never looked away from Marise. "There," said Josephine, slipping out the hairpins, and taking up a handful of the bright hair to inspect it, "I believe--I _believe_," she pondered the matter profoundly, her dark, sharp intelligent face selflessly focussed on the problem, "I _wonder_ if we ought to wash it a little oftener here than in Paris? There is more dust. But washing it takes the oil out so. Perhaps a little more of the Meylan dressing. That has a little fine oil in it. I know the recipe." Josephine knew everything there was to know about toilet-preparations, and about how to use them. She adored her profession and adored Mlle. Mills for being such a beautiful subject. There were times, when she had pinned the last shining curl in place, put the last breath of invisible powder on the rounded young white neck, fastened the last hook in the exquisitely fitting gown, and got down on her knees to straighten the gleaming silk of the fine silk stockings, when she wondered what she had done to deserve such good fortune. She often watched Eugenia out of the door, as tenderly, impersonally proud of her as a painter of his canvas, as a patissier of his tart; and then feeling somewhat worn with activity and emotion, stepped back, took off her corsets, got into the rumpled untidy wrapper which was her personal favorite, put carpet slippers on her tired feet, and sat down with a novel of high-life to rest.