For over ten minutes they talked solely of the proposed house, but not once did Griswold expose the fact that he had seen any more of it than any one might see from the public road. When he rose to take his leave he said: "How would it do if I motored out Sunday and showed your house to Miss Proctor? Sunday is the only day she has off, and if it would not inconvenience you--" The tender heart of Cochran leaped in wild tumult; he could not conceal his delight, nor did he attempt to do so; and his expression made it entirely unnecessary for him to assure Griswold that such a visit would be entirely welcome and that they might count on finding him at home. As though it were an afterthought, Griswold halted at the door and said: "I believe you are already acquainted with Miss Proctor." Cochran, conscious of five years of devotion, found that he was blushing, and longed to strangle himself. Nor was the blush lost upon Griswold. "I'm sorry," said Cochran, "but I've not had that honor. On the stage, of course--" He shrugged the broad shoulders deprecatingly, as though to suggest that not to know Miss Proctor as an artist argues oneself unknown. Griswold pretended to be puzzled. As though endeavoring to recall a past conversation he frowned. "But Aline," he said, "told me she had met you-met you at Bar Harbor." In the fatal photographs the familiar landfalls of Bar Harbor had been easily recognized. The young architect shook his head. "It must be another Cochran," he suggested. "I have never been in Bar Harbor." With the evidence of the photographs before him this last statement was a verdict of guilty, and Griswold, not with the idea of giving Cochran a last chance to be honest, but to cause him to dig the pit still deeper, continued to lead him on. "Maybe she meant York Harbor?" Again Cochran shook his head and laughed. "Believe me," he said, "if I'd ever met Miss Proctor anywhere I wouldn't forget it!" Ten minutes later Griswold was talking to Aline over the telephone. He intended to force matters. He would show Aline she could neither trifle with nor deceive Chester Griswold; but the thought that he had been deceived was not what most hurt him. What hurt him was to think that Aline had preferred a man who looked like an advertisement for ready-made clothes and who worked in his shirt-sleeves. Griswold took it for granted that any woman would be glad to marry him. So many had been willing to do so that he was convinced, when one of them was not, it was not because there was anything wrong with him, but because the girl herself lacked taste and perception.