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 sa