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Griswold now was frightened, and that made him reckless. Instead of withdrawing he plunged deeper.

“I won’t have you two pretending you don’t know each other,” he blustered. “I won’t stand being fooled! If you’re going to deceive me before we’re married, what will you do after we’re married?”

Charles emitted a howl. It was made up of disgust, amazement, and rage. Fiercely he turned upon Miss Proctor.

“Let me have him!” he begged.

“No!” almost shouted Miss Proctor. Her tone was no longer cold–it was volcanic. Her eyes, flashing beautifully, were fixed upon Griswold. She made a gesture as though to sweep Charles out of the room. “Please go!” she demanded. “This does not concern you.”

Her tone was one not lightly to be disregarded. Charles disregarded it.

“It does concern me,” he said briskly. “Nobody can insult a woman in my house–you, least of all!” He turned upon the greatest catch in America. “Griswold,” he said, “I never met this lady until I came into this room; but I know her, understand her, value her better than you’d understand her if you knew her a thousand years!”

Griswold allowed him to go no farther.

“I know this much,” he roared: “she was in love with the man who took those photographs, and that man was in love with her! And you’re that man!”

“What if I am!” roared back Charles. “Men always have loved her; men always will–because she’s a fine, big, wonderful woman! You can’t see that, and you never will. You insulted her! Now I’ll give you time to apologize for that, and then I’ll order you out of this house! And if Miss Proctor is the sort of girl I think she is, she’ll order you out of it, too!”

Both men swung toward Miss Proctor. Her eyes were now smiling excitedly. She first turned them upon Charles, blushing most becomingly.

“Miss Proctor,” she said, “hopes she is the sort of girl Mr. Cochran thinks she is.” She then turned upon the greatest catch in America. “You needn’t wait, Chester,” she said, “not even to apologize.”

Chester Griswold, alone in his car, was driven back to New York. On the way he invented a story to explain why, at the eleventh hour, he had jilted Aline Proctor; but when his thoughts reverted to the young man he had seen working with his sleeves rolled up he decided it would be safer to let Miss Proctor tell of the broken engagement in her own way.

Charles would not consent to drive his fair guest back to New York until she had first honored him with her presence at luncheon. It was served for two, on his veranda, under the climbing honeysuckles. During the luncheon he told her all.

Miss Proctor, in the light of his five years of devotion, magnanimously forgave him.

“Such a pretty house!” she exclaimed as they drove away from it. “When Griswold selected it for our honeymoon he showed his first appreciation of what I really like.”

“It is still at your service!” said Charles.

Miss Proctor’s eyes smiled with a strange light, but she did not speak. It was a happy ride; but when Charles left her at the door of her apartment-house he regarded sadly and with regret the bundle of retrieved photographs that she carried away.

“What is it?” she asked kindly.

“I’m thinking of going back to those empty frames,” said Charles, and blushed deeply. Miss Proctor blushed also. With delighted and guilty eyes she hastily scanned the photographs. Snatching one from the collection, she gave it to him and then ran up the steps.

In the light of the spring sunset the eyes of Charles devoured the photograph of which, at last, he was the rightful owner. On it was written: “As long as this rock lasts!”

As Charles walked to his car his expression was distinctly thoughtful.