"Suppose you find you a champion to do your

battle—a John Alden?"

"He might do as Alden did, and keep the prize. My chum, Latham, is the only one I dare trust to win and divide spoils, and he is abroad now, you know."

"Right glad I am, for Marrion Latham is a marvellous success with womankind. Still, I want some one to oppose me, for no game is worth a rap for a rational man to play unless he has competition"—this with decided emphasis.

"What's the matter with Fred Stanhope? I think he will make it interesting for you."

"Oh, I want a man, not a sissy. He is just the son of Mr. Stanhope. He hasn't enough sense to grease gimlets. He is a rich-born freak, and I think he has set out to make a condign idiot of himself, in the briefest, directest manner, and he will doubtless succeed. I prefer you for a rival."

"But Frost, I would be powerless, quite powerless, with you in the field."

"Ah, you idealize me, make me too great a hero," answered Frost, quite pleased within himself.

"Not a hero," spoke Robert slowly, "but a smooth calculating man of the period, just the manner of man to take with that type of woman.