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 I have thought that Malcolm Dodd is not your real name ?" "Not my real name ?" he repeated.
"And that you are here for some other purpose than--just to rest.

You know, you might be a detective." He had looked at her searchingly.

Then in a burst of confidence, he had replied, "No, my name is not Dodd, as you guessed.

But I am not a detective, as you suspected at first.