lly into a year, into two years,
into nearly three. From assistant to Virginia Van de Vere I became
consultant, from consultant, partner finally. Van de Vere's grew,
expanded, spread to the house next door. To the two V's upon the
door-plate was added at last a third. Van de Vere's became Van de Vere
and Vars.

My life, like that of a child's, assumed habits, personality, settled
down to characteristics of its own. I remained with Esther in Irving
Place, in spite of Virginia's urgent invitation to share her apartment,
adding to the room an old Italian chest, a few large pieces of copper
and brass, and a strip or two of antique embroidery. I preferred Irving
Place. It was simple, quiet, and detached.

I came and went as I pleased; ate where I wanted to and when; wandered
here and there at will. Evenings I sometimes went with Esther, when she
could leave the book, or with Rosa, or with Alsace and Lorraine, to
various favorite haunts; sometimes with Virginia to the luxurious
studios of artists who had arrived; sometimes with Mrs. Scot-Williams to
suffrage meetings, where occasionally I spoke; sometimes to dinner and
opera with stereotyped Malcolm; sometimes simply to bed with a generous
book. A beautiful, unhampered sort of existence it was--perfect, I would
have called it once.

My relations with the family simmered down to a friendly basis. They
accepted my independence as a matter of course. It had been undesired
by them, true enough, its birth painful, but like many an unwanted
child, once born, once safely here, they became accustomed to it,
fond, even proud, as it matured. I spent every Christmas with Edith in
Hilton, going up with Malcolm on the same train, and returning with
him in time for a following business day. I often ran up for a
week-end with Lucy and Will. Once I spent a fortnight with Tom and
Elise in Wisconsin. The family seldom came to New York without
telephoning to me, and often we dined together and went to the
theater. I ought to have been very happy. I had won all I had left
home for. I worked; I produced. At Van de Vere's my creative genius
had found a soil in which to grow. I, as well as Virginia, conceived
dream rooms, sketched them in water-colors, created them in wood, and
paint, and drapery. I had escaped the stultifying effects of
parasitism, rescued body and brain from sluggishness and inactivity,
successfully shaken off the shackles of society. Freedom of act and
speech was mine; indep