Some kind of convention in New York at that time had made hotel accommodations very scarce, and Mr. Harding confessed that he was obliged to take the one room available in the Manhattan Hotel—the bridal chamber! He asked me to come up there with him so that we might continue our conversation without interruptions or annoyances.
The bridal chamber of the Manhattan Hotel was, to me, a very lovely room, and, in view of the fact that we had scarcely closed the door behind us when we shared our first kiss, it seemed sweetly appropriate. The bed, which we did not disturb, stood upon a dais, and the furnishings were in keeping with the general refinement of atmosphere. I shall never, never forget how Mr. Harding kept saying, after each kiss, “God!... God, Nan!” in high diminuendo, nor how he pleaded in tense voice, “Oh, dearie, tell me it isn’t hateful to you to have me kiss you!” And as I kissed him back I thought that he surpassed even my gladdest dreams of him.
Between kisses we found time to discuss my immediate need for a position and I found Mr. Harding less inclined to recommend me in Washington. In fact, he frankly confessed to me, he preferred to have me in New York where he could come over to see me and where he would feel more at liberty to be with me. There were no intimacies in that bridal chamber beyond our very ardent kisses, and, Mr. Harding, having been acquainted with my plans for going to Chicago after graduation to visit my sister, tucked $30 in my brand new silk stocking and was “sorry he had no more that time to give me.” Inasmuch as I received my carfare and small spending money from Mrs. Carter in amounts of $1.00, $.75, $1.25 or whatever change she happened to have on hand, to have $30 all at one time to “spend as I chose” seemed to me almost too good to be true! I had always been very grateful to the Carters for the way in which they took me into their home as one of them, but of course I would not have been my natural self had I not thought wistfully over Mr. Harding’s statement to me, “Why didn’t you ask me to send you to school, Nan?” and his emphatic “You bet!” after I had inquired with wide eyes, “Oh, would you have done that?”
The first letter I received from Senator Harding I had shown to Mrs. Emma Laird Phelps with whom I was working in the Paderewski connection, and she read it with what I thought seemed avidity.
“A typical letter, my dear,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“Typical of what?” I inquired.
“Why, that man has an object—can’t you see that?” she said easily.
“What kind of object do you mean?” I queried wonderingly.
Her explanation must have been very vague for I can’t remember it at all, but I suppose the affectional things that actually did transpire upon our first visit together were things which she would have said proved such ‘object’ on Mr. Harding’s part. But they were all too spontaneous, too sincere to have been premeditated.
Mrs. Phelps afterward asked me one time to give her a letter that she might use to gain a conference with Mr. Harding and I am sure, while I never gave her such a letter, that she changed her mind completely about Mr. Harding’s possible purposes toward me so graciously did she voice her admiration of him to me many times.