_Nearly two years later_.

_A small reception room at the White House_. MRS. LINCOLN, _dressed in
a fashion perhaps a little too considered, despairing as she now does
of any sartorial grace in her husband, and acutely conscious that she
must meet this necessity of office alone, is writing. She rings the
bell, and_ SUSAN, _who has taken her promotion more philosophically,
comes in.

Mrs. Lincoln_: Admit any one who calls, Susan. And enquire whether the
President will be in to tea.

_Susan_: Mr. Lincoln has just sent word that he will be in.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Very well.

SUSAN _is going_.

Susan. _Susan_: Yes, ma'am.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: You still say Mr. Lincoln. You should say the
President.

_Susan_: Yes, ma'am. But you see, ma'am, it's difficult after calling
him Mr. Lincoln for fifteen years.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: But you must remember. Everybody calls him the
President now.

_Susan_: No, ma'am. There's a good many people call him Father Abraham