Note 6 — Chapter Four

I know that there were those who thought I spoiled Winslow. Brother Phil used to twit me about it good humoredly. If I did, it was to try and repay the measure of happiness he brought me. Diametrically opposed as we were in temperament, it was that very antithesis that apparently brought us together. In all the years of our lives together, up to the very hour of his death, I can truthfully say that it was his fineness, his more delicate discernments, his dear unobtrusive co-operation that brought me the more conspicuous success of the two. As the brother-in-law of the President of the United States, and the husband of a woman whose activities were destined to be more or less conspicuous, Winslow never forfeited one of his splendid qualities to those rather spectacular and at the same time enormously difficult conditions. Neither did he ever avail himself of any largesse of favor which might have come to him because of my brother. He sought no favors. He asked precedence over no man. An artist of parts was my husband, whose work, in my opinion, never won the wide approval its gossamer beauty deserved. It was as a revered father, a beloved and respected husband, that he was to come into his own. The day of his death, the greater part of the light of the world went out for me.