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?