One afternoon, shortly after his arrival, she had encountered him
unexpectedly on a walk through the pines. He appeared surprised to
meet her, yet she knew intuitively that he had been following her.
Still, it was so different now to have any one seek her company
that, in spite of her uncertainty of him, she almost welcomed his
speaking.

There was a certain deference in his manner, too, which did not
accord with Constance's ideas of a detective. Yet he did know
something of her. How much! Was it merely what the rest of the world
knew? She could not help seeing that the man was studying her, while
she studied him. There was a fascination about it, a fascination
that the human mystery always possesses for a woman. On his part, he
showed keenly his interest in her.

Constance had met him with more frankness as she encountered him
often during the days that followed. She had even tried to draw him
out to talk of himself.

"I came here," he had said one day when they were passing the spot
where he had overtaken her first, "without knowing a soul, not
expecting to meet any one I should care for, indeed hoping to meet
no one."

Constance had said nothing, but she felt that at last he was going
to crash down the barrier of reserve. He continued earnestly,
"Somehow or other I have come to enjoy these little walks."

"So have I," she admitted, facing him; "but, do you know, sometimes