He paced his room. In another week or two, if he had kept on,--if Peter had not come,--he might have been admitted farther into that house. He squared his shoulders. If he fought for his own even now--if, man against man, he challenged Peter for her--he might have a fighting chance. Was not that his right? In New York, in the world outside New York, that was the law: a hard fight--the best man to win. In war, favors might be shown; but in life, with a man's own at stake, it was every one for himself. Peter himself would agree to that. He was not one to ask favors. A fair fight was all he demanded. Then let it be a clean, fair fight with bare knuckles to a finish. Let him show himself to Marjory as the grandson of the man who gave him his name; let him press his claims. He was ready now to face the world with her. He was eager to do that. Neither heights nor depths held any terrors for him. He envied Chic--he envied even poor mad Hamilton. Suddenly he saw a great truth. There is no difference between the heights and the depths to those who are playing the game. It is only those who sit in the grand-stand who see the difference. He ought to have known that. The hard throws, the stinging tackles that used to bring the grandstand to its feet, he never felt. The players knew something that those upon the seats did not know, and thrilled with a keener joy than the onlookers dreamed of. If he could only be given another chance to do something for Marjory--something that would bite into him, something that would twist his body and maul him! If he could not face some serious physical danger for her, then some great sacrifice-- Which was precisely the opportunity now offered. He had been considering this sacrifice from his own personal point of view. He had looked upon it as merely a personal punishment. But, after all, it was for her. It was for her alone. Peter played no part in it whatever. Neither did he himself. It was for her--for her! Monte set his jaws. If, through Peter, he could bring her happiness, then that was all the reward he could ask. Here was a man who loved her, who would be good to her and fight hard for her. He was just the sort of man he could trust her to. If he could see them settled in New York, as Chic and Mrs. Chic were settled, see them start the brave adventure, then he would have accomplished more than he had ever been able to accomplish so far. There was no need of thinking beyond that point. What became of his life after that did not matter in the slightest. Wherever he was, he would always know that she was where she belonged, and that was enough. He must hold fast to that thought. A knock at his door made him turn on his heels. "Who's that?" he demanded. "It's I--Noyes," came the answer. "Have you gone to bed yet?" Monte swung open the door. "Come in," he said. "I thought I 'd like to talk with you, if it is n't too late," explained Peter nervously.