# The President's Daughter (Britton)/Chapter 26

Mr. Harding and I had often talked of how wonderful it would be to have a child, and Mr. Harding told me frankly he had often wanted to adopt one, but "Florence" would not hear of it. He told me this in connection with his recital of his domestic unhappiness, and his usual final exclamation was, "She makes life hell for me, Nan!" And I, knowing this, did all within my power to make up to the man I loved all his legal wife failed to do. There was a time in 1918 when Mrs. Harding was very ill but Mr. Harding came over to New York to see me just the same. I remember once he said they had a trained nurse there constantly for a period. I felt sorry for Mrs. Harding, but I must confess I doubted very much Mr. Harding's love for his wife at any time in his life.
I used to think Mr. Harding might have liked to adopt me, though he never said so to me. However, he spoke very freely to me about what he would do if Mrs. Harding were to pass on—he wanted to buy a place for us and live in the country, and often during those days Mr. Harding said to me, "Wouldn't that be grand, Nan? You'd make such a darling wife!"
This reminds me: It was Warren Harding who told me for the first time of Angela Arnold's engagement. But he did not use the word "engagement." "I understand Angela Arnold is announcing her betrothment," he said to me one evening at dinner. He chose to use words which, though sometimes archaic, were somehow substantially good and seemed especially ​congruous coming from the lips of Warren Harding. But this bit of gossip interested me far less than his hushed exclamation across the table, "Gee, Nan, you'd make a lovely bride!" Once in a while, as on this occasion, I answered him, "Would I, darling Warren?" I called him Warren very rarely. He used to tease me to say to him, "Warren, darling, I love you," and it seemed to delight him to hear me say his name. But I was so much younger than he—exactly thirty years his junior—that somehow it seemed out of tune for me to address him by his first name. I just resorted to endearments, usually calling him "sweetheart." He called me "Nan" from the first and his letters usually began, "Nan darling." I remember the salutation very often seemed as though it might have been put in after the body of the letter had been written, and when I asked him about it he said that was the case, for he so often wrote his letters to me on memo paper during legislative discussions in the Senate Chamber.
The first part of January, 1919, I went over to Washington. I think I stopped at the Raleigh Hotel. Mr. Harding sometimes found it difficult to be with me all of the afternoon and of course I understood this. He himself would in that case plan my afternoon for me, sending me on a bus trip to Arlington Heights, or suggesting some other form of entertainment. That particular afternoon and evening, however, he did spend with me up until ten-thirty or eleven o'clock. We went over to the Senate Office in the evening. We stayed quite a while there that evening, longer, he said, than was wise for us to do, because the rules governing guests in the Senate Offices were rather strict. It was here, we both decided afterward, that our baby girl was conceived. Mr. Harding told me he liked to have me be with him in his office, for then the place held precious memories and he could visualize me there during the hours he worked alone. Mr. Harding was more or less careless of consequences, feeling sure he was not now going to become a father. "No such luck!" he said. But he was mis​taken, and of course the Senate Offices do not provide preventive facilities for use in such emergencies.
"That's a very stunning cape you have Nan," were his words as he helped me slip into its brown woolly softness. That was the first time he had seen the cape which Marie Johnson had helped me to select in New York and for which I had paid $75, buying it of course on the instalment plan. I adored the casual intimacy of tone he used.
In mid-January Mr. Harding came over to New York. He telephoned me at the Steel Corporation and I shall never forget how thrilled I was because I hadn't known he was coming and he had surprised me. "Ask Mr. Close if you can have the rest of the afternoon off," he said. Also, he suggested that I borrow the apartment of a friend of mine, a girl of whom I had spoken to him many times.
I told Mr. Close that my sweetheart was here unexpectedly and he gave me permission to leave for the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Close as well as everybody else in the office knew, of course, that I had a sweetheart who lived in Washington. I usually referred to him as "my man"—seldom calling him by name and when I did using the name "Dean."
Then I got my friend's permission to go up to her apartment, at 120th Street and Amsterdam Avenue. Mr. Harding got off on the floor below and walked up one flight to prevent any suspicion on the part of the elevator man.
For a second time in less than two weeks, having none of the usual paraphernalia which we always took to hotels, and somehow not particularly concerned about possible consequences, we spent a most intimate afternoon. How indelible my memory of Mr. Harding sitting on the day-bed, his back against the wall, holding me in his arms and looking down at me with a smile that was so sweet that it made me want to cry from sheer contentment! "Happy, dearie?" he asked.
He thought my friend's apartment very attractive and wished that I were earning enough to make it appear possible for me to have just such a place for myself, for he would love to give ​it to me. He picked up my Christmas mesh-bag, his gift, which I carried back and forth with me to work until the newness of its possession wore off. "Do you like this sort of thing. Nan?" Mr. Harding asked me as he examined the bag. The mesh in the bag is so soft that it seems almost like silver cloth. "Oh, yes!" I answered quickly and he smiled understandingly at my fervor. Sometimes I was almost ashamed because I was so passionately fond of frivolous things like that.