She stopped and faced him. It was evident that he was sincere. "You men--all men are so stupid at times!" she cried, with a little laugh. He shook his head slowly. "I 'll have to admit it." "Why, he's with her now," she laughed. "That's why I stayed at home to-day." Monte held his breath for a second, and then he said:-- "You mean, the woman Peter loves is--is Marjory Stockton?" "No other. I thought he must have told you. If not, I thought you must have guessed it from her." "Why, no," he admitted; "I did n't." "Then you've had your eyes closed." "That's it," he nodded; "I've had my eyes closed. Why, that explains a lot of things." Impulsively the girl placed her hand on Monte's arm. "As an old friend of hers, you'll use your influence to help Peter?" "I 'll do what I can." "Then I'm so glad I told you." "Yes," agreed Monte. "I suppose it is just as well for me to know." CHAPTER XX PAYING LIKE A MAN Everything considered, Monte should have been glad at the revelation Beatrice made to him. If Peter were in love with Marjory and she with Peter--why, it solved his own problem, by the simple process of elimination, neatly and with despatch. All that remained for him to do was to remove himself from the awkward triangle as soon as possible. He must leave Marjory free, and Peter would look after the rest. No doubt a divorce on the grounds of desertion could be easily arranged; and thus, by that one stroke, they two would be made happy, and he--well, what the devil was to become of him? The answer was obvious. It did not matter a picayune to any one what became of him. What had he ever done to make his life worth while to any one? He had never done any particular harm, that was true; but neither had he done any particular good. It is the positive things that count, when a man stands before the judgment-seat; and that is where Monte stood on the night Marjory came back from Cannes by the side of Peter, with her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed as if she had come straight from Eden. They all dined together, and Monte grubbed hungrily for every look she vouchsafed him, for every word she tossed him. She had been more than ordinarily vivacious, spurred on partly by Beatrice and partly by Peter. Monte had felt himself merely an onlooker. That, in fact, was all he was. That was all he had been his whole life. He dodged Peter this evening to escape their usual after-dinner talk, and went to his room. He was there now, with his face white and tense.