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.
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