This I put seriously; it stood much to the left hand of any programme of mine, this making one of the General's White House family.
“Who will carry on your farms?” repeated the General. “Why, then, who is to carry on mine? Do you mean that you, who have put me here, are about to desert me? Nonsense, man; there is no room in your body, big as it is, for so gross a treason. If I stay, you stay; and that's nailed down.”
“And surely you wouldn't abandon me?” said Peg, bringing her pretty face something near to my shoulder. Then, low and pleading: “Me; with trouble frowning?”
Who was there to stand up against both Peg and the General? I made no breathless battle of it, you may guess.
“Major, I've been telling this child,” said the General, laying his thin hand on Peg's curly mop of hair, “how at our receptions she'll light up that great East Room with the bright face of her. We shall require all the beauty we can muster, since the administration is like to go limping in the business of looks. Van Buren and Barry are wifeless; and I'm told Mrs. Ingham is forbiddingly hideous, with the voice of a henhawk. You see, my child,” turning to Peg, “we build on you to save our day from the sin of ugliness.”
Peg's eyes danced, and she seemed to bask in prospects naught save sunshine. She was far from that broken one of sobs and sorrows whose hand I held a short half hour before. A great woman is ever a great actress; Peg was proving it now; for with a face all light, her heart was a heart of shadows, and heavy with the forebode of dark days coming down. What a paradox is woman! Here was Peg, brave at once, and fearful—afraid for her husband, while quick with courage for him, finding her peril where she found her strength.
“We are living,” remarked Eaton, as he tucked Peg under his arm preparatory to their departure, “we are living on the Georgetown side of the President's Square. General, we won't, while you are in the White House, have a far journey when we visit you. Major, you must call on us.”
“Indeed, you must!” echoed Peg.
As the two took their leave, and the General, having bowed the little lady to the door, sought his never-failing pipe, Jim reappeared, and with a caution that bordered upon mystery put a penciled note in my hand. It read:
“Mr. Noah presents his compliments to the Major; and will the Major do Mr. Noah the honor to meet him immediately in the card room? It is considered advisable by Mr. Noah to say nothing to the General concerning this message.”