gether upon the couch he asked me suddenly, as though it had just occurred to him, if I would care to attend his church that morning. "Have Tim Slade drop you off there," he suggested, when I told him Tim was waiting for me outside with his car. I was delighted. Mr. Harding seemed to be, too. We could at least be in the same building for another hour!
We talked, as usual, of many things and he urged me to tell him everything of interest that had happened to me since he last saw me. Somehow it really was like bringing the outside world inside the prison bars to the one shut in; he seemed so happy to hear of my doings. I remember so well how back in '17 or '18 I used to relate to him my experiences, usually after we had retired and I could lie close in his arms, and, when I suddenly realized I had been talking steadily for quite some time I would interrupt myself and apologize, and he would say so adorably, "Why, Nan, I love to listen to you!" Here in the White House our time was limited, and I gradually learned that if I wanted to touch upon all topics I must jot them down upon a card, and scratch them off the list as I spoke of them to Mr. Harding. Which I invariably did. I told him at this time of a diary I had begun—it was to contain accounts of my visits to him in the White House, as well as the many little cunning things Elizabeth Ann was saying those days in her sweet baby way. Again Mr. Harding shook his head. "Oh, dearie, you mustn't keep such a book around. You must destroy it as soon as you return to Chicago. Promise, Nan, that you will destroy it immediately!" I promised readily, though, of course, presented healthy arguments to disparage such a program. "Why, honey, I paid $11 for that book at Dutton's in New York last fall, and I have it almost over half full now. I didn't think you'd mind a diary!" But he pleaded with me to keep nothing around, in my trunk or elsewhere, that would be evidence of our relationship, and, of course, I said I would not from then on. I felt hurt about having to destroy the pages of that beautiful lavender diary. I have retained the cover and the blank pages that were left. I remember writing him after I returned to Chicago, and telling him that it had been
