Cochran, Griswold did not ask Aline if he was one of
those for whom she once had cared. He considered the affair with
Cochran so serious that, in regard to that man, he adopted a different
course.

In digging rivals out of the past his jealousy had made him
indefatigable, but in all his researches he never had heard the name of
Charles Cochran. That fact and the added circumstance that Aline
herself never had mentioned the man was in his eyes so suspicious as to
be almost a damning evidence of deception. And he argued that if in
the past Aline had deceived him as to Charles Cochran she would
continue to do so. Accordingly, instead of asking her frankly for the
truth he proceeded to lay traps for it. And if there is one thing
Truth cannot abide, it is being hunted by traps.

That evening Aline and he were invited to a supper in her honor, and as
he drove her from the theatre to the home of their hostess he told her
of his search earlier in the day.

The electric light in the limousine showed Aline's face as clearly as
though it were held in a spotlight, and as he prepared his trap
Griswold regarded her jealously.

"Post tells me," he said, "he has the very man you want for your
architect. He's sure you'll find him most understanding
and--and--sympathetic. He's a young man who is just coming to the
front, and he's very popular, especially with women."

"What's his being popular with women," asked Aline, "got to do with his
carrying out my ideas of a house?"

"That's just it," said Griswold--"it's the woman who generally has the
most to say as to how her house shall be built, and this man
understands woman. I have reasons for believing he will certainly
understand you!"

"If he understands me well enough to give me all the linen-closets I
want," said Aline, "he will be perfectly satisfactory."

Before delivering his blow Griswold sank back into his corner of the
car, drew his hat brim over his forehead, and fixed spying eyes upon
the very lovely face of the girl he had asked to marry him.

"His name," he said in fateful tones, "is Charles Cochran!"

It was supposed to be a body blow; but, to his distress, Aline neither
started nor turned pale. Neither, for trying to trick her, did she
turn upon him in reproof and anger. Instead, with alert eyes, she
continued to peer out of the window at the electric-light
advertisements and her beloved Broadway.

"Well?" demanded Griswold; his tone was hoarse and h