Tell me," he asked eagerly, bending down closer to her with an almost breathless intensity in his face as though he would read her thoughts, "am I right?
The story of you which I have heard since I came here is not the truth, the whole truth.

It is only half the truth--is it not ?" Constance felt that this man was dangerously near understanding her, as no one yet had seemed to be.

It set her heart beating wildly to know that he did.

And yet she was not afraid.

Somehow, although she did not betray the answer by a word or a look, she felt that she could trust him.
Through the door of escape from the penalty of her forgeries, which Carlton Dunlap had thrown open for her by the manner of his death, Constance had passed unsuspected.