There were some bitter hours after we got back to London. But Tom won,
and I promised to get a companion. Then there came into my life the
most wonderful of friends. She was the widow of a British Army officer
who had been killed in India, and her only child was dead. She was a
woman of education and heart; she understood my needs, all of them, and
I interested her. She had seen great suffering; she had a deep feeling
for humanity and an honest desire to be of use in the world. In the
English register my companion was listed as the Honorable Evelyn, but we
quickly got down to Mary and Eve. We loved each other. Eve went to
France with us a few months later. She made me talk French with her.
My first formal dinner in France was a pleasant surprise. It was like a
great family party--not dull and quiet like the English dinner, and ever
so much more fun. Everybody participated. If there was one lion at the
table, everybody shared him.


There is something in being born on a silken couch. Nothing surprises
you. You are at ease anywhere in the world. Eve fitted into Paris as
naturally as in her native London, I began to feel at home there myself.
It was a city of happy people--care free, natural, sympathetic. There
was a lack of restraint which, after the oppressive dignity of London,
was a rare treat. No one was critical. Every one accepted my halting
and faulty French without ridicule or condescension. The amiability and
the friendliness of the French people thawed my heart and began to lift
me out of my slough of homesickness. Happiness came back to me.

There had been hours in England when only the knowledge that a woman's
rarest gift was coming to me, and that Tom was proud and happy about it,
kept me from running away--back to the simple life of my own United
States.