Mr. Taft was reviewing the Inaugural Parade and the last of it did not pass the reviewing stand until after nightfall. He came in, however, in time to exchange greetings with old-time, enthusiastic friends, the members of the Yale class of ’78, and to hold them longer than they had intended to remain. When the last of them had wished us Godspeed and said goodbye, we stood, the five of us⁠—my husband, my three children and I⁠—alone in the big state dining-room, and tried to realise that, for the first time, the White House was really our Home. The great walnut-panelled room, with its silvered chandeliers and big moose heads, seemed very empty with only the Taft family in it, after all the clatter and chatter that had been sounding there all day. We gazed at each other for a moment, with slightly lost expressions on our faces, and then nature asserted herself in the new President.

“Let’s go upstairs, my dears, and sit down !” said he.