“Oh, it’s no surprise, really. That’s what they want the rest of the world to think of me. Those newspapers, they all have their instructions, believe me.” She turned to look out one of the portholes. What a profile she had. That strong jaw, that sharp, large nose. “It doesn’t matter. As long as I’ve made a difference, that’s what matters. I don’t care if nobody hears about it, not a single soul. My own conscience is clear.”

“I’m sure you’ve done a lot of good.”

“You’ll see. You have to roll up your sleeves, you know, you have to weigh those babies yourself, change those napkins, feed them their bottles. You have to show these natives how to do it all properly.”

I opened my mouth to ask how Wallis herself had learned to do it all properly, not having children of her own, but at the last instant I swallowed the question and glanced down to my stenographer’s notebook and scribbled something, I don’t remember what.

“It’s all so primitive,” she went on. “And in this modern age. They nurse the babies themselves, like animals. No notion of proper infant nutrition. The first thing I did, I rang up Johnson and Johnson and made them donate cans of milk. Thousands and thousands of cans we’ve distributed among the Out Islanders. It’s done so much good. Of course, if the United States gets dragged into this damned war, they’ll have to stop.”

“You mean the milk? Johnson and Johnson?”

“All of it. Milk, diaper cloths, everything.” Her eyes narrowed, and I remember thinking she must be concentrating deeply on something, maybe the possible new sources of supplies, some alternative means of getting milk and diapers to the native mothers of the Bahamas. I sat and watched her, pen poised.

After some time, she turned to me and pointed her finger at the leather bag containing my Kodak 35.

“Be sure you get a few good photographs,” she said. “A picture says a thousand words.”

Which I did, of course, and if you happen to come across that particular copy of Metropolitan magazine, the October 1941 issue, you’ll find two photographs of Wallis illustrating the “Lady of Nassau” column on the inside back cover. The first and larger one shows her dressed to the nines in a constellation of jewels and a Mainbocher gown the color of fresh cream, dancing with HRH at some charity ball or another. In the second one, she’s wearing her Red Cross uniform and an expression of deep compassion, as she hands a box of canned milk to a grateful Negro mother on Cat Island.