"He's here, I know," Peace declared. "I saw him when he went in, and he told grandma that he should be home the rest of the day."
"P'raps he's upstairs in his room."
"But he ain't, I tell you! Didn't we just come from upstairs! We'd have heard him moving about if he'd been up there."
"Maybe he's asleep."
"I'm going to see."
Cautiously she opened the door a little crack and peeped in. The west window curtains were drawn and the room was very dim, but after a few rapid blinks, Peace became accustomed to the subdued light, and saw the long figure lying on the davenport beside the fireplace, now filled with summer flowers.
"There he is," she whispered triumphantly, and pushing the door further ajar, she stepped across the threshold.
"Oh, we mustn't 'sturb him!" protested Allee, holding back; but Peace serenely assured her, "I ain't going to touch him. I'm just going to stay till he wakes up. Are you coming?"
Allee, followed, still a little reluctant, and the door closed noiselessly behind them. With careful hands, they drew up a long Roman chair in front of the couch, and sat down together to await the President's awakening. The room was almost gloomy in its dimness, and so quiet that they could hear their own breathing. But not another sound broke the silence, save the ticking of the little French clock on the mantel, which drove Peace almost to distraction. Then she chanced to remember a discussion she had heard a long time before, and settling herself with elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, she fixed her somber eyes full upon the sleeping face before her, and stared with all her might.
"Look at him," she commanded Allee in a stage whisper.