On a June day in Paris, as the sunny radiance of the morning flooded the Champs Elysees with balm and bloom and radiant energy, I learned from a cablegram that she had already been for more than two weeks in the life beyond; that her death had occurred the very day that I landed at Liverpool and had been given that thrilling vision of my last night on the steamer; when I realized that her death occurred on that far away island in the Pacific where there is no cable communication, and that it had taken the two weeks for the tidings to reach the United States, in that first moment of blind, bewildering agony there was little of conscious reflection of thought.