That in the past it never had lasted did not discourage her.
What to do with these photographs that so vividly recalled the most tumultuous period of his life Nelson could not decide. If he hid them away and Sally found them, he knew she would make his life miserable. If he died and Sally then found them, when he no longer was able to explain that they meant nothing to him, she would believe he always had loved the other woman, and it would make her miserable. He felt he could not safely keep them in his own house; his vanity did not permit him to burn them, and, accordingly, he decided to unload them on some one else.
The young man to whom he confided his collection was Charles Cochran. Cochran was a charming person from the West. He had studied in the Beaux Arts and on foot had travelled over England and Europe, preparing himself to try his fortune in New York as an architect. He was now in the office of the architects Post &Constant, and lived alone in a tiny farmhouse he had made over for himself near Herbert Nelson, at Westbury, Long Island.
Post & Constant were a fashionable firm and were responsible for many of the French chateaux and English country houses that were rising near Westbury, Hempstead, and Roslyn; and it was Cochran's duty to drive over that territory in his runabout, keep an eye on the contractors, and dissuade clients from grafting mansard roofs on Italian villas. He had built the summer home of the Herbert Nelsons, and Herbert and Charles were very warm friends. Charles was of the same lack of years as was Herbert, of an enthusiastic and sentimental nature; and, like many other young men, the story of his life also was the lovely and much-desired Aline Proctor.
It was this coincidence that had made them friends and that had led Herbert to select Charles as the custodian of his treasure.
As a custodian and confidant Charles especially appealed to his new friend, because, except upon the stage and in restaurants, Charles had never seen Aline Proctor, did not know her--and considered her so far above him, so unattainable, that he had no wish to seek her out. Unknown, he preferred to worship at a distance. In this determination Herbert strongly encouraged him.
When he turned over the pictures to Charles, Herbert could not resist showing them to him. They were in many ways charming.
They presented the queen of musical comedy in several new roles.
In one she was in a sailor suit, giving an imitation of a girl paddling a canoe. In another she was in a riding-habit mounted upon a pony of which she seemed very much afraid.
In some she sat like a siren among the rocks with the waves and seaweed snatching at her feet, and in another she crouched beneath the wheel of Herbert's touring car. All of the photographs were unprofessional and intimate, and the legends scrawled across them were even more intimate.
"'As long as this rock lasts!'" read Herbert. At arm's length he held the picture for Cochran to see, and laughed bitterly and unmirthfully as he had heard leading men laugh in problem plays.
"That is what she wrote," he mocked--"but how long did it last?
Until she saw that little red-headed Albany playing polo. That lasted until his mother heard of it. She thought her precious lamb was in the clutches of a designing actress, and made the Foreign Office cable him home. Then Aline took up one of those army aviators, and chucked him for that fellow who painted her portrait, and threw him over for the lawn-tennis champion. Now she's engaged to Chester Griswold, and Heaven pity her! Of course he's the greatest catch in America; but he's a prig and a snob, and he's so generous with his money that he'll give you five pennies for a nickel any time you ask him. He's got a heart like the metre of a taxicab, and he's jealous as a cat. Aline will have a fine time with Chester! I knew him at St. Paul's and at Harvard, and he's got as much red blood in him as an eel!"Cochran sprang to the defense of the lady of his dreams.
"There must be some good in the man," he protested, "or Miss Proctor-""Oh, those solemn snobs," declared Herbert, "impress women by just keeping still. Griswold pretends the reason he doesn't speak to you is because he's too superior, but the real reason is that he knows whenever he opens his mouth he shows he is an ass."Reluctantly Herbert turned over to Charles the precious pictures.
"It would be a sin to destroy them, wouldn't it?" he prompted.
Cochran agreed heartily.
"You might even," suggested Herbert, "leave one or two of them about. You have so many of Aline already that one more wouldn't be noticed. Then when I drop in I could see it." He smiled ingratiatingly.
"But those I have I bought," Cochran pointed out. "Anybody can buy them, but yours are personal. And they're signed.""No one will notice that but me," protested Herbert. "Just one or two," he coaxed-"stuck round among the others. They'd give me a heap of melancholy pleasure."Charles shook his head doubtfully.
"Your wife often comes here with you," he said. "I don't believe they'd give her melancholy pleasure. The question is, are you married to Sally or to Aline Proctor?""Oh, of course," exclaimed Herbert--" if you refuse!"With suspicious haste Charles surrendered.
"I don't refuse," he explained; "I only ask if it's wise. Sally knows you were once very fond of Miss Proctor--knows you were engaged to her.""But," protested Herbert, "Sally sees your photographs of Aline.
