Raspberry Jam Part 14

So he went on to the club, and dove into the great business of the last possible chance of electioneering.

Though friendly through all this campaign, the strain was beginning to tell on the two candidates, and both Embury and Hendricks found it a little difficult to keep up their good feeling.

"But," they both reasoned, "as soon as the election is over, we'll be all right again. We're both too good sports to hold rancor, or to feel any jealousy."

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.'

"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 subst.i.tute, of course. Come, Eunice!"

There was something icy in his tones that made Eunice s.h.i.+ver, though it was not noticeable to strangers, and she rose, smiling, with a few gay words of apology.

"Perfectly awful of me to leave, when I'm winning," she said, "but there are times, you know, when one remembers the 'obey' plank in the matrimonial platform! Dear Fifi, forgive me--"

She moved about gracefully, saying a word or two of farewell, and then disappeared to get her wrap, with as little disturbance as possible of the other players.

"You naughty man!" and Mrs. Desternay shook her finger at Embury; "if you weren't so good-looking I should put you in my black books!"

"That would at least keep me in your memory," he returned, but his smile was now quite evidently a forced one.

And his words of farewell were few, as he led Eunice from the house and down to the car.

He handed her in, and then sat beside her, as the chauffeur turned homeward.

Not a word was spoken by either of them during the whole ride.

Several times Eunice decided to break the silence, but concluded not to. She was both angry and frightened, but the anger predominated.

Embury sat motionless, his face pale and stern, and when they arrived at their own house, he a.s.sisted her from the car, quite as usual, dismissed the chauffeur, with a word of orders for the next day, and then the pair went into the house.

Ferdinand met them at their door, and performed his efficient and accustomed services.

And then, after a glance at her husband, Eunice went into her own room and closed the door.

Embury smoked a cigarette or two, and at last went to his room.

Ferdinand attended him, and the concerned expression on the old servant's face showed, though he tried to repress it, an anxiety as to the very evident trouble that was brewing.

But he made no intrusive remark or implication, though a furtive glance at his master betokened a resentment of his treatment of Eunice, the idol of Ferdinand's heart.

Dismissed, he left Embury's room, and closed the door softly behind him.

The door between the rooms of Embury and his wife stood a little ajar, and as his hand fell on it to shut it, he heard a stifled gasp of "Sanford!"

He looked in, and saw Eunice, in a very white heat of rage. In all their married life he had never seen her so terribly angry as she looked then. Speechless from very fury, she stood, with clenched hands, trying to command her voice.

She looked wonderfully beautiful like some statue of an avenging angel--he almost fancied he could see a flaming sword!

As he looked, she took a step toward him, her eyes burning with a glance of hate. Judith might have looked so, or Jael. Not exactly frightened, but alarmed, lest she might fly into a pa.s.sion of rage that would really injure her, Embury closed the door, practically in her very face. Indeed, practically, he slammed it, with all the audible implication of which a slammed door is capable.

The next morning Ferdinand waited for the usual summons from Embury's bedroom. The tea tray was ready, the toast crisp and hot, but the summons of the bell was unusually delayed.

When the clock pointed to fifteen minutes past the hour Ferdinand tapped on Embury's door. A few moments later he tapped again, rapping louder.