self up as it grew, until I became treasurer. To cut it short, I have
used funds belonging to the company, lost them. I don't need to tell
you how a treasurer or a cashier can do that."

Constance was actually startled. Was he what he represented himself to
be? Or was he leading her on in this way to a confession of her own
part, which she had covered so well, in the forgeries of her dead
husband?

"How did you begin?" she asked tentatively.

"A few years ago," he answered with a disconcerting lack of reserve,
"the company found that we could beat our competitors by a very simple
means. The largest stockholder, Mr. Dumont, was friendly with some of
the customs officials and--well, we undervalued our goods. It was easy.
The only thing necessary was to bribe some of the officials. The
president of the company, Walton Beverley, put the dirty work on me as
treasurer. Now you can imagine what that meant."

He had fallen into a cynical tone again.

"It meant that I soon found, or, rather, thought I found, that every
man has his price--some higher, some lower, but a price, nevertheless.
It was my business to find it, to keep it as low as I could with
safety. So it went, from one crooked thing to another. I knew I was
crooked, but not as bad, I think, as the rest who put the actual work
on me. I was unfortunate, weak perhaps. That is all. I tried to get
mine, too. I lost what I meant to put back after I had used it. They
are after me now, or soon will be--the crooks! And here I am,
momentarily expecting some one to walk up quietly behind me, tap me on
the shoulder and whisper, 'You're wanted.'"

Time had not softened the bitterness of Constance's feelings. Somehow
she felt that the world, or at least society owed her for taking away
her husband. The world must pay. She sympathized with the young man who
was appealing to her for friendship. Why not help him?

"Do you really, really want to know what I think?" asked Constance
after he had at last told her his wretched story. It was the first time
that she had looked at him since she realized that he was unburdening
the truth to her.

"Yes," he answered eagerly, catching her eye. "Yes," he urged.

"I think," she said slowly, "that you are running away from a fight
that has not yet begun."

It thrilled her to be talking so. Once before she had tasted the
sweetness and the bitterness of crime. She did not stop to think about
right or wrong. If she had done so her ethics