dows. The boy threw them open for us and left. The room faced Broadway, but we were high enough not to be bothered by street noises. We were quite alone.
I became Mr. Harding's bride—as he called me—on that day.
The telephone startled us. Mr. Harding jumped up to answer it. He said, "You've got the wrong party." Almost simultaneously, however, there was a rap at the door. Then it was unlocked from without and two men came in. I could hear them speaking to each other before they entered. One man asked my name. I whispered to Mr. Harding, "What shall I say to them?" curiously enough not feeling much fear in the distress of the situation. I never could explain this to myself except that I loved Warren Harding so much that if he were with me it didn't matter what happened. "Tell them the truth!" he said. "They've got us!" He seemed so pitifully distressed. So I told the man my name, where I lived, where I worked, in answer to queries put to me gruffly. All this information he wrote down on a pad. Mr. Harding sat disconsolately on the edge of the bed, pleading for them to allow me to go. He seemed to base his plea on the argument that we had not disturbed any of their guests, and for this reason we should be allowed to depart in peace. "I'll answer for both, won't I?" he entreated them. "Let this poor little girl go!" They told him he should have thought of that before, and other things I thought were very unkind considering he had not bound and dragged me there; I had come of my own free will. I remember he told them I was twenty-two years old, and I, not realizing that he wanted to make me as old as he safely could, interrupted him and stated truthfully that I was only twenty.
To almost every argument he advanced in my behalf they answered, "You'll have to tell that to the judge." They intimated that they were sending for a police-patrol. I did become frightened then. About that time one of the men picked up Mr. Harding's hat. Inside was his name, "W. G. Harding,"
