The first person whom my eyes rested upon in the box was Aunt Delia, already installed in a chair near the back and drinking in the scene with visible pleasure. Aunt Delia, at that time, was eighty-three years old, but not for anything would she have missed one feature of this crowning day of her life. Having no children of her own, she had for many years given the greater part of her thought and interest to her nephews and nieces, and she followed every step in my husband’s career with an absorption, not to say an excitement, as great as my own. All day long she had travelled from ceremony to ceremony, conducted by Lieutenant Reed, one of the Naval aides. She would arrive, leaning on his arm, among the first at each appointed place, ready and eager for any new event. She didn’t miss even the late supper of birds, salads and ices which was served to us later that night, before we left the Ball. And now she sat in the President’s Box, her soft, white hair arranged by the best hairdresser, gowned in rich, old-fashioned, black velvet, adorned with all the good old lace which she had been treasuring for years for an occasion justifying its display.

The Vice-President and Mrs. Sherman arrived shortly after we did and shared the box with us. They also had with them a large family party and were both so jolly and so much in the festive spirit that formality disappeared. Many friends and officials of distinction came, in the course of the evening, to pay their respects; and members of our own family came and went at intervals as they were inclined.