The winter White House was two different places this weekend, and the Master of the House Donald Trump wore two different faces.

On Thursday night, the place was secured tighter than a miser’s strongbox, mostly at the request of the Chinese government for the protection of its president.

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Guests had to be cleared no later than 48 hours ahead of time by providing name, DOB, Social Security number, and even passport number. There was a no-cellphone policy that resulted in at least one confiscation (from the table where John Havlicek and his family were celebrating his birthday, which was a total Grinch-y move); what seemed like a larger than usual Secret Service presence; the absence of the usual prime rib buffet “to keep movement to a minimum,” a Secret Service agent told us; and a somber, almost grim POTUS skipping his usual casual stroll around the terrace and instead moving purposefully from situation room to presidents’ dining room and back to situation room.

Later, everybody would realize that the missile launch against Syria had transpired right under our very noses.

Less than 24 hours later, the vibe was completely different. Security was back at its usual level; staff members were more relaxed, and the inside bar was thankfully open and one of the first places POTUS stopped on his traditional dinnertime stroll. He stopped to chat with New England Patriots boss Bob Kraft, who was seated with an exceptionally beautiful (very) young woman named Jocelyn, and both joined POTUS for dinner on the terrace. Also there: Koch brothers, David and Bill and Bill’s wife, Bridget; Ike Perlmutter; Bruce Moskowitz; Secretary of State Rex Tillerson (who hands down has the best-looking Secret Service squad); Robin and Richard Bernstein; Sidney Kohl, and Patricia Lebow.

Melania Trump, smiling and relaxed, made her way back to the family quarters first, followed a few minutes later by POTUS, who stopped at several tables on his way to say good night, then, after taking a few steps away, returned again to say a bit more.

That’s what we call taking an Irish leave. It’s like a French Leave, except the French leave and never say goodbye while the Irish say goodbye and never leave.

But maybe we should just call it a presidential leave.