FullReads

He found confronting him a tall and beautiful young woman. It was not the Aline Proctor he knew. It was not the well-poised, gracious, and distinguished beauty he had seen gliding among the tables at Sherry’s or throwing smiles over the footlights. This Aline Proctor was a very indignant young person, with flashing eyes, tossing head, and a stamping foot. Extended from her at arm’s length, she held a photograph of herself in a heavy silver frame; and, as though it were a weapon, she was brandishing it in the face of Chester Griswold. As Cochran, in amazement, halted in the doorway she was exclaiming:

“I told you I didn’t know Charles Cochran! I tell you so now! If you can’t believe me-“

Out of the corner of her flashing eyes the angry lady caught sight of Cochran in the doorway. She turned upon the intruder as though she meant forcibly to eject him.

“Who are you?” she demanded. Her manner and tone seemed to add: “And what the deuce are you doing here?”

Charles answered her tone.

“I am Charles Cochran,” he said. “I live here. This is my house!”

These words had no other effect upon Miss Proctor than to switch her indignation down another track. She now turned upon Charles.

“Then, if this is your house,” cried that angry young person, “why have you filled it with photographs of me that belong to some one else?”

Charles saw that his hour had come. His sin had found him out. He felt that to prevaricate would be only stupid.

Griswold had tried devious methods–and look where his devious methods had dumped him! Griswold certainly was in wrong. Charles quickly determined to adopt a course directly opposite. Griswold had shown an utter lack of confidence in Aline. Charles decided that he would give her his entire confidence, would throw himself upon the mercy of the court.

“I have those photographs in my house, Miss Proctor,” he said, “because I have admired you a long time. They were more like you than those I could buy. Having them here has helped me a lot, and it hasn’t done you any harm. You know very well you have anonymous admirers all over this country. I’m only one of them. If I have offended, I have offended with many, many thousands.”

Already it has been related that Cochran was very good to look upon. At the present moment, as he spoke in respectful, even soulful accents, meekly and penitently proclaiming his long-concealed admiration, Miss Proctor found her indignation melting like an icicle in the sun.

Still, she did not hold herself cheaply. She was accustomed to such open flattery. She would not at once capitulate.

“But these pictures,” she protested, “I gave to a man I knew. You have no right to them. They are not at all the sort of picture I would give to an utter stranger!” With anxiety the lovely lady paused for a reply. She hoped that the reply the tall young man with appealing eyes would make would be such as to make it possible for her to forgive him.

He was not given time to reply. With a mocking snort Griswold interrupted. Aline and Charles had entirely forgotten him.

“An utter stranger!” mimicked Griswold. “Oh, yes; he’s an utter stranger! You’re pretty good actors, both of you; but you can’t keep that up long, and you’d better stop it now.”

“Stop what?” asked Miss Proctor. Her tone was cold and calm, but in her eyes was a strange light. It should have warned Griswold that he would have been safer under the bed.

“Stop pretending!” cried Griswold. “I won’t have it!”

“I don’t understand,” said Miss Proctor. She spoke in the same cold voice, only now it had dropped several degrees nearer freezing. “I don’t think you understand yourself. You won’t have what?”