“Yes, I was born into a rich home, wherein the merry jingle of dollars was of less consequence to the different members of my family, than the rattle of pennies is to me now. I received all the finishing touches of education, then as my indulgent father said—”just for pastime“—I took up drawing and painting. My heart, brain and fingers seemed tuned with one accord, so that taking the brush and palette in my hand was only striking the chords of my artistic nature, and the harmony which was thereby inspired spread itself in delicate tints and shades, producing pictures which were as natural as those of the old masters were. So much attention was paid to my amateurish productions that I soon found myself famous. Then I fell in love; art and love should have been brother and sister, born of the same woman and nurtured on the same sweet food. To love a man was to love to draw beautiful pictures as nearly perfect as my accomplishment would allow, then no matter what the canvas portrayed after it had received my finishing touches, I took great pleasure in likening the work to that of my idol, and always found my production wanting. Long days I spent in my studio, striving to make a picture of something which would show as much excellence as a work of art as my lover showed as a man; each time I tried I improved, but before I had reached that stage of supremacy as an artist, I had so lost my head along with my heart that it was a hopeless task; there was nothing so true, so sweet, so perfect as my Reginald.” “We were married. The conditions and circumstances under which we met at the altar were favorable in the extreme. My husband was a musician of note; in fact, he knew nothing but music and love; certainly nothing was more natural than the blending of our souls in love, inspired by ambition; then to add joy to the happy situation my husband’s best and dearest friend, Jean Vincent (whom he had long since given up as dead), returned to our home town two days before the nuptials. Wealth was a thing easy of access to us, as both our families were independently rich. I was an only child and it was a common expression of my father’s that as I was so careless in regard to my sex, it would be my duty to the family to produce a son. We were very happy, my husband, Mr. Vincent and I, for Reginald insisted on his taking up his residence with us during his stay; he, too, was an artist of no mean ability, and as Reggie said, we could share the same studio and perhaps be of assistance to each other, and besides my husband was teaching a great deal now, and it would be so nice to have Jean in the house for company.”