My still anonymous friend, "the rich lady," paid me afterward another visit, in which she still kept me ignorant of who she was. She came alone this time, and unbosomed many of her sorrows to me. (How many others have done so! some men, but chiefly women!) While she was there in the parlor a gentleman came in (Dr. Schoonmaker, a dentist, of 12th Street, a friend of mine, who I believe is still living and remembers it) and was introduced into the back room. By some accident of the opening of the door, he caught a glimpse of my visitor in the front room. He said to me, "Mrs. Brown, are you aware who that is in your front room?" I said that we knew her as "the rich lady," though she was an uneducated one. "Have you never heard of the notorious ---- ----?" and he told me her name, of which of course I had heard. "I am so sorry you have told me this," I replied; "she has engaged me for another day." "Well," he said, "I am her dentist; and she was in my chair a good part of yesterday. Her fee is as good as anybody's; your advertisements open the door to all investigators, and you have no right to refuse her so long as she behaves herself." "She has certainly acted like a lady thus far with me," I could not but answer. Between then and her next engagement with me (which was her fourth visit to my house), the lace woman had played her fraudulent cards upon her. She had palmed off upon her a fraudulent trance and Spiritualism, and had prepared her for the coming of a handsome young French officer, with et cetera, et cetera of a story. The upshot was that this young man was the lace woman's son, and an adventurer of whom the rich lady was made a prey. He pretended honorable love and marriage, at which a sinful but repentant soul clutched readily. She married him, and paid me a farewell visit on her departure. She said, "You little know the good you have done to me;" and she threw on my neck a gold chain and handsome cross. She kissed my hand and left it wet with tears. "Oh, it won't hurt you," she said, "if I kiss your hand, though I am much worse than you think me--or at least have been." My good friend, Professor Mapes, was present at this, and public repute had made him know all about her. After she had gone he said to me, "You have done that poor woman more good than all the preachers of New York could ever have done. You have reformed one of the vilest of women." I afterward heard that her handsome adventurer-husband spent or got away from her all her money, and absconded, abandoning her; and that she died destitute and forlorn in a hospital in Paris. I could tell more tales than this of women who have passed through my hands, or rather those of the Spirits, between whom and them I have humbly served as a medium.