she gets used to them."

No sooner had Herbert left him than the custodian of the treasure
himself selected the photographs he would display. In them the
young woman he had--from the front row of the orchestra--so
ardently admired appeared in a new light. To Cochran they seemed
at once to render her more kindly, more approachable; to show her
as she really was, the sort of girl any youth would find it extremely
difficult not to love. Cochran found it extremely easy. The photographs
gave his imagination all the room it wanted. He believed they also gave
him an insight into her real character that was denied to anybody else.
He had always credited her with all the virtues; he now endowed her
with every charm of mind and body. In a week to the two photographs
he had selected from the loan collection for purposes of display and to
give Herbert melancholy pleasure he had added three more. In two
weeks there were half a dozen. In a month, nobly framed in silver,
in leather of red, green, and blue, the entire collection smiled upon him
from every part of his bedroom. For he now kept them where no one
but himself could see them. No longer was he of a mind to share
his borrowed treasure with others--not even with the rightful
owner.

Chester Griswold, spurred on by Aline Proctor, who wanted to
build a summer home on Long Island, was motoring with Post, of
Post & Constant, in the neighborhood of Westbury. Post had
pointed out several houses designed by his firm, which he hoped
might assist Griswold in making up his mind as to the kind of
house he wanted; but none they had seen had satisfied his client.

"What I want is a cheap house," explained the young millionaire.