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Mr. Griswold did not see. Up to that moment he had given every appearance of being both bored and sulky. Now his attention was entirely engaged–but not upon the admirable simplicity of Mr. Cochran’s ground-plan, as Mr. Post had hoped. Instead, the eyes of the greatest catch in America were intently regarding a display of photographs that smiled back at him from every corner of the room. Not only did he regard these photographs with a savage glare, but he approached them and carefully studied the inscriptions scrawled across the face of each.

Post himself cast a glance at the nearest photographs, and then hastily manoeuvred his client into the hall and closed the door.

“We will now,” he exclaimed, “visit the butler’s pantry, which opens upon the dining-room and kitchen, thus saving–“

But Griswold did not hear him. Without giving another glance at the house he stamped out of it and, plumping himself down in the motor-car, banged the door. Not until Post had driven him well into New York did he make any comment.

“What did you say,” he then demanded, “is the name of the man who owns that last house we saw?”

Post told him.

“I never heard of him!” said Griswold as though he were delivering young Cochran’s death sentence. “Who is he?”

“He’s an architect in our office,” said Post. “We think a lot of him. He’ll leave us soon, of course. The best ones always do. His work is very popular. So is he.”

“I never heard of him,” repeated Griswold. Then, with sudden heat, he added savagely: “But I mean to to-night.”

When Griswold had first persuaded Aline Proctor to engage herself to him he had suggested that, to avoid embarrassment, she should tell him the names of the other men to whom she had been engaged.

“What kind of embarrassment would that avoid?”

“If I am talking to a man,” said Griswold, “and he knows the woman I’m going to marry was engaged to him and I don’t know that, he has me at a disadvantage.”

“I don’t see that he has,” said Aline. “If we suppose, for the sake of argument, that to marry me is desirable, I would say that the man who was going to marry me had the advantage over the one I had declined to marry.”

“I want to know who those men are,” explained Griswold, “because I want to avoid them. I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t want even to know them.”

“I don’t see how I can help you,” said Aline. “I haven’t the slightest objection to telling you the names of the men I have cared for, if I can remember them, but I certainly do not intend to tell you the name of any man who cared for me enough to ask me to marry him. That’s his secret, not mine–certainly not yours.”

Griswold thought he was very proud. He really was very vain; and as jealousy is only vanity in its nastiest development he was extremely jealous. So he persisted.

“Will you do this?” he demanded. “If I ever ask you, ‘Is that one of the men you cared for?’ will you tell me?”

“If you wish it,” said Aline; “but I can’t see any health in it. It will only make you uncomfortable. So long as you know I have given you the greatest and truest love I am capable of, why should you concern yourself with my mistakes?”

“So that I can avoid meeting what you call your mistakes,” said Griswold–” and being friendly with them.”

“I assure you,” laughed Aline, “it wouldn’t hurt you a bit to be as friendly with them as they’d let you. Maybe they weren’t as proud of their families as you are, but they made up for that by being a darned sight prouder of me!”