The only men in civilian evening dress were Mr. Davis and his Cabinet and a few ministers and very old men, for even then we were "robbing the cradle and the grave" to recruit the Army, and the women were sacrificing everything to help. Through kindness of friends in Norfolk a handsome bridal dress, imported for me by Mrs. Boykin, had been smuggled across the line. It was so unusual that after Mrs. Davis had greeted me she looked in astonishment at my costume and said:
"Child, where did you get these clothes?"
Turning to the General, smiling, Mr. Davis asked:
"Where did you get the little lady in the clothes?"
On the other side of the room was the editor of the Richmond Examiner, who had been mercilessly assailing the administration. Mrs. Davis called her husband's attention to him but Mr. Davis said:
"Let us not look that way, my dear. We have come to-night to see beautiful things and think pleasant thoughts."
The General's sister invited the President and Mrs. Davis to the dining-room.
"What a time you must have had plucking them," said Mr. Davis when he saw the sora.
"A part of the gift was the preparation of them, even to the last shade of brownness."
My memory of Mr. Davis that evening lingers with special significance because it was the last time that I ever saw real happiness in his earnest face. He was just a free, gallant gentleman that night. As he said, he had come to enjoy. Clouds, public and private, were gathering, and soon enough there was no longer the possibility of forgetting. I saw him often afterward in sadness, but never again with the light of joy on his face.