He led Peter to a chair.

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable."

Monte lighted a cigarette, sank into a near-by chair, and waited.

"Beatrice said she told you," began Peter.

"She did," answered Monte; "I'd congratulate you if it would n't be so manifestly superfluous."

"I did n't realize she was an old friend of yours."

"I've known her for ten years," said Monte.

"It's wonderful to have known her as long as that. I envy you."

"That's strange, because I almost envy you."

Peter laughed.

"I have a notion I 'd be worried if you were n't already married, Covington."

"Worried?"

"I think Mrs. Covington must be a good deal like Marjory."

"She is," admitted Monte.

"So, if I had n't been lucky enough to find you already suited, you might have given me a race."

"You forget that the ladies themselves have some voice in such matters," Monte replied slowly.

"I have better reasons than you for not forgetting that," answered Peter.

Monte started.

"I was n't thinking of you," he put in quickly. "Besides, you did n't give Marjory a fair chance. Her aunt had just died, and she--well, she has learned a lot since then."

"She has changed!" exclaimed Peter. "I noticed it at once; but I was almost afraid to believe it. She seems steadier--more serious."

"Yes."

"You've seen a good deal of her recently?"

"For the last two or three weeks," answered Monte.

"You don't mind my talking to you about her?"

"Not at all."

"As you're an old friend of hers, I feel as if I had the right."

"Go ahead."

"It seems to me as if she had suddenly grown from a girl to a woman. I saw the woman in her all the time. It--it was to her I spoke before.

Maybe, as you said, the woman was n't quite ready."

"I'm sure of it."

"You speak with conviction."

"As I told you, I've come to know her better these last few weeks than ever before. I 've had a chance to study her. She's had a chance, too, to study--other men. There's been one in particular--"

Peter straightened a bit.

"One in particular?" he demanded aggressively.

"No one you need fear," replied Monte. "In a way, it's because of him that your own chances have improved."

"How?"

"It has given her an opportunity to compare him with you."

"Are you at liberty to tell me about him?"

"Yes; I think I have that right," replied Monte; "I'll not be violating any confidences, because what I know about him I know from the man himself. Furthermore, it was I who introduced him to her."

"Oh--a friend of yours."

"Not a friend, exactly; an acquaintance of long standing would be more accurate. I've been in touch with him all my life, but it's only lately I've felt that I was really getting to know him."

"Is he here in Nice now?" inquired Peter.

"No," answered Monte slowly. "He went away a little while ago. He went suddenly--G.o.d knows where. I don't think he will ever come back."

"You can't help pitying the poor devil if he was fond of her," said Peter.

"But he was n't good enough for her. It was his own fault too, so he is n't deserving even of pity."

"Probably that makes it all the harder. What was the matter with him?"

"He was one of the kind we spoke of the other night--the kind who always sits in the grandstand instead of getting into the game."

"Pardon me if I 'm wrong, but--I thought you spoke rather sympathetically of that kind the other night."

"I was probably reflecting his views," Monte parried.

"That accounts for it," returned Peter. "Somehow, it did n't sound consistent in you. I wish I could see your face, Covington."

"We're sitting in the dark here," answered Monte.