"Will you do this?" he demanded. "If I ever ask you, 'Is that one
of the men you cared for?' will you tell me?"

"If you wish it," said Aline; "but I can't see any health in it.
It will only make you uncomfortable. So long as you know I have
given you the greatest and truest love I am capable of, why
should you concern yourself with my mistakes?"

"So that I can avoid meeting what you call your mistakes," said
Griswold--" and being friendly with them."

"I assure you," laughed Aline, "it wouldn't hurt you a bit to be
as friendly with them as they'd let you. Maybe they weren't as
proud of their families as you are, but they made up for that by
being a darned sight prouder of me!"

Later, undismayed by this and unashamed, on two occasions
Griswold actually did demand of Aline if a genial youth she had
just greeted joyfully was one of those for whom she once had
cared.

And Aline had replied promptly and truthfully that he was. But in
the case of Charles 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