Besides, there was Junia. To him she was the one being in the world
worth struggling for; the bird to be caught on the wing, or coaxed into
the nest, or snared into the net; and two of the three things he had
tried without avail. The third--the snaring? He would not stop at that,
if it would bring him what he wanted. How to snare her! He surveyed
himself in the mirror.

"A great hulking figure like that!" he said in disapproval. "All bone
and muscle and flesh and physical show! It wouldn't weigh with her.
She's too fine. It isn't the animal in a man she likes. It's what he
can do, and what he is, and where he's going."

Then he thought of Carnac's new outburst, and his veins ran cold.
"She'll like that--but yes, she'll like that: and if he succeeds she'll
think he's great. Well, she'd be right. He'll beat Barouche. He's
young and brave, careless and daring. Now where am I in this fight?
I belong to Barouche's party and my vote ought to go for him."

For some minutes he sat in profound thought. What part should he play?
He liked Carnac, he owed him a debt which he could never repay. Carnac
had saved him from killing Denzil. If that had happened, he himself
might have gone to the gallows.

He decided. Sitting down, he wrote Carnac the following letter:

DEAR CARNAC GRIER,

I see you're beginning a new work. You now belong to a party that I
am opposed to, but that doesn't stop me offering you support. It's