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.’
“Here you are,” he said lightly, as he came upon Eunice, with another woman and two men, all of whom were silently concentrating on what was quite evidently a stiff game.
“Yes, here I am,” she returned; “don’t speak please, until I finish this hand.”
Eunice was playing the hand, and though her face paled, and a spot of bright color appeared on either cheek she did not lose her head, and carried the hand through to a successful conclusion.
“Game and rubber!” she cried, triumphantly, and the vanquished pair nodded regretfully.
“And the last game, please, for my wife,” Embury said, in calm, courteous tones. “You can get a substitute, of course. Come, Eunice!”