And this was true.  Men of the world, men of well-balanced minds, clever, logical and just, they were fighting hard, each for his own side, but once the matter was decided, they would be again the same old friends.

However, Embury was just as well pleased to learn that Hendricks was out of town.  He had gone to Boston on an important business matter, and though it was not so stated, Embury was pretty sure that the important business was closely connected with the coming election.

In his own endeavor to secure votes, Embury was not above playing the, to him, unusual game of being all things to all men.

And this brought him into cordial conversation with one of the younger club members, who was of the type he generally went out of his way to avoid.

“Try to put yourself in our place, Mr. Embury,” the cub was saying.  “We want this club to be up-to-date and beyond.  Conservatism is all very well, and we all practiced it ’for the duration,’ but now the war’s over, let’s have some fun, say we!”

“I know, Billy, but there is a certain standard to be maintained—­”

“We, the people of the United States—­and tiddle tya—­tya—­tya!  Why, everybody’s doing it!  The women—­bless ’em!—­too.  I just left your wife at a table with my wife, and the pile of chips between ’em would make some men’s card-rooms hide their diminished walls!”

“That so?  You saw my wife this evening?  Where?”

“As if you didn’t know!  But, good heavens! perhaps you didn’t!  Have I been indiscreet?”

“Not at all.  At Mrs, Desternay’s, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but you gave me a jolt.  I was afraid I’d peached.”

“Not at all.  They’re friends.”

“Well, between you and me, they oughtn’t to be.  I let Gladys go, under protest—­I left her there myself—­but it’s never again for her!  I shall tell her so to-night.”

Embury changed the subject and by using all his self-control gave no hint of his wrath.  So Eunice had gone after all!  After his expressly forbidding it!  It was almost unbelievable!

And within an hour of his receiving information, Sanford Embury, in his own car, stopped at the Desternay house.

Smiling and debonair as he entered the drawingroom, he greeted the hostess and asked for his wife.

“Oh, don’t disturb her, dear Mr. Embury,” begged the vivacious Fifi; “she’s out for blood!  She’s in the den, with three of our wizards and the sky’s their limit!”

“Tut, tut!  What naughtiness!” Embury’s manner was just the right degree of playful reproach, and his fine poise and distinguished air attracted attention from many of the players.

The rooms were filled, without being crowded, and a swift mental stock-taking of the appointments and atmosphere convinced the newcomer that his preconception of the place was about right.

“I must take her away before she cleans out the bunch,” he laughed, and made progress toward the ‘den.’