IT WAS not until April, 1905, that Miss Adams came to 44 to have tea with my aunt. For them to meet had taken a long time: Miss Adams's year of rest was followed during her 1903-1904 season by that attack of grippe which she had barely recovered from when she returned to Boston, so that between performances she kept to her bed. But when at last she walked up our steps after a drive with me, my aunt and I were in luck. A more favorable moment to welcome her could not have been chosen if we had planned it all along, as will be seen.
Miss Adams's grandmother and mother were no longer living with her. They were settling in Salt Lake City. Her grandmother had gone back in 1904; her mother was to join her there in 1906, "tired," as she writes, "after a season of thirtyone weeks," a final comeback to the stage. She was to find her life of leisure dull. "Rest is rust," she comments later; rust which the giving of recitals at friendly Literary Clubs did not rub off.
The family's return to the West, combined with her own long tours away from New York, made it unwise for Miss Adams to keep her New York house and the Long Island farm running. After a time, she rented the 41st Street property on a long lease. The little house was torn down, and a shaftlike office building stands in its place.
That Miss Adams had no kin now living in the East must have made her more ready to come to our old house, for which she felt an instant liking, and to grow close to my aunt, who