"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.
"Go on."
"Marjory liked this fellow well enough because—well, because he looked more or less like a man. He was big physically, and all that. Besides, his ancestors were all men, and I suppose they handed down something."