When she met Peg in the morning Faith told her what had happened.

Peg listened sceptically; she seemed more impressed with Faith's fainting than with its sequence. "I said you ought to give up and have a holiday," she said bluntly.

Faith was vaguely disappointed. She had been so sure that Peg would see the romance of her adventure. She worked badly that day; her fingers seemed all thumbs.

Twice the forewoman spoke to her sharply, and once Peg said with a faint smile: "You're thinking about that car, aren't you, Faith?"

The girl flushed sensitively, with quick denial.

"Of course not." But she knew that she was.

She looked at herself anxiously in a tiny glass before she started home. For the first time she realized how pale and thin she was, and how poor her clothes. Her heart swelled with a sense of the injustice of life as she trudged along the hot streets.

To-day there was no Beggar Man, no wonderful car gliding up to the kerb to pick her up and carry her the weary way home; such a thing could not happen a second time.

"But it was only a story, Faith...." That was what her mother had said, so perhaps everything wonderful in life was just a story, too—never coming true!

She quickened her steps with a feeling of shame. The day of miracles had passed; fairy princes did not go about the East End of London disguised as big, burly men with kind eyes.

Faith turned a corner sharply and came face to face with "the Beggar Man."...

He pulled up short with a conventional apology, then all at once he smiled.

"I was thinking of you a moment ago. It was just here that we met yesterday, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Faith had flushed like a rose. "I was just thinking of you, too," she said, with courage born of her delight.

He looked at her. "Have you had your tea?" he asked in his abrupt manner.

"No, I'm just going home."

"Then we'll have some tea first; there's a shop just along the road."

Faith followed obediently. He looked younger to-day, she thought, and better-looking! She wished with all her heart that Peg or some of the other girls could see her. They faced one another across a marble-topped table, and the man ordered tea and cakes.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. Faith shook her head; she was too pleased to be hungry.

She kept telling herself that, of course, it must be a dream. Under cover of the table she gave herself a hard pinch to make sure that she was really awake....

"You're not eating anything," the man said, and she awoke with a start to realities.

"How old are you?" he asked, and she told him with fluttering haste, "I'm nineteen."

"Nineteen!" He raised his brows. "I should have said sixteen," he smiled. "How old do you think I am?"

She considered for a moment. "Forty?" she hazarded.

He laughed. "Not quite so bad; I'm six-and-thirty."

"Oh!" She looked at him gravely. "It's not very old," she said kindly.

"Nearly twenty years older than you," he reminded her.

"Yes."

He went on: "I've lived abroad most of my life, and that ages a man, you know. I've slept under the sky for months at a time and never spoken to a living soul for weeks. I've starved and begged." He laughed. "Once I even robbed a man. But I paid him back when I got the money. Are you shocked?" he asked.

"Oh, no!" She thought him the most wonderful person she had ever met.

"Tell me something about yourself," said the Beggar Man abruptly.

She told him the little she knew—how that her father had been "a gentleman"; how his people had cast him off for marrying her mother; how that he had died three years ago, leaving them without a penny.

"And I work at Heeler's," she added.

"Yes, you told me that yesterday. And they treat you—well?"

"Peg says it might be worse. Peg is my best friend and I love her," said Faith fervently.

"Lucky Peg!" said the Beggar Man.

Faith shook her head. "She doesn't think she's lucky," she answered seriously. "She's always saying how unfair things are. She hates rich people and she hates Mr. Scammel, too! She says that she would like to murder him."

"And who is Scammel?" asked the Beggar Man.

"Heeler's belongs to him," she told him. "He's ever so rich, and he's got a house in Park-lane and a place on the river, and a yacht and a car——"

"Anything else?" the man asked amusedly.

"Oh, yes, I expect so. Peg says he makes his money out of us, that he squeezes us dry to make himself rich. I think he must be something like the man who ruined my father," she added.

"Have some more cake?" said the Beggar Man.

"No, thank you."

Faith finished her tea and looked round the room. Hitherto she had only had eyes for her companion. The shop was not very full.

A girl at the next table was staring at her, and the girl in the cash desk by the door was staring, too. Faith flushed. Of course, they were both wondering what she was doing with this man, and once again the consciousness of her own shabbiness overwhelmed her.

"I think it's time I went home," she said, and broke off sharply as the door swung open and Peg Fraser walked into the shop.

Faith hardly knew if she was glad or sorry to be so discovered. She gripped her hands hard.

Peg came slowly down between the tables, her eyes looking to right and left in search of a vacant seat; suddenly they fell upon Faith.

She made a quick little movement towards her; then stopped, staring.

Faith smiled nervously. She did not know why, but her heart seemed to stop beating, when Peg turned on her heel without a word or sign of recognition, and sat down at a table at the far end of the room.

The man had not noticed anything; he turned to ask for his bill. Presently he looked up at Faith.

"We will go, if you really wish it," he said.

"Please." She followed him from the shop, not daring to raise her eyes to where Peg sat. Some strange emotion kept her from doing so.

Out in the street the sky had grown overcast. Heavy drops were spattering the pavement. "We'd better have a taxicab," the man said.

Faith stood on the kerb while he went in pursuit of a taxicab. It seemed wonderful to her that anybody should have so much money that a taxicab was an ordinary everyday luxury. It was raining steadily by the time they drove away. The man pulled up the window.

"My luck's in," he said abruptly. "I wanted to speak to you and it would not have been possible if we had walked."

His grey eyes searched her wistful face doubtfully, then he went on again:

"I've taken a fancy to you. There's something about you I like. I should be very pleased if with all my money I could do something to make your life happier. I've never seen your mother or the twins, but I should like to see them."

The colour rose slowly to Faith's face. She was sure now that he was joking.

"Of course, you don't mean it!" she said quiveringly.

"Don't mean it? Good heavens!" The man laughed. "I do mean it, every word! When we were having tea just now I did a lot of thinking. I am a man who makes up his mind quickly and sticks to it. Now, look here, I'm going to make you an offer—without sentiment or any nonsense of that sort. I want a wife, and I want a girl who hasn't been spoilt by the tomfoolery of the world. I want a girl I can mould to my own ideas. I'll treat her well and be a good husband to a woman who could fancy me." He paused. "Well, what do you say?"

Faith was staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips. His astounding proposition had robbed her of speech. It was some seconds before she could gasp out, "What do you mean? What do you mean?"

"I mean," said the Beggar Man earnestly, "that I'd like to marry you, if you think you'd care about it."

It was many moments before Faith could find her voice; many moments before she could conquer the conviction that all this was a dream. Then she broke out, unconsciously using the words of Peg Fraser's favourite ejaculation: "It's like a novelette."

She really thought it was; she was breathless with astonishment, dazed with the unexpectedness of it all. The Beggar Man laughed.

"Is it? They always say that truth is stranger than fiction, don't they?" He let down the window of the cab and thrust his head out, calling to the driver:

"Go down the West End—the park—anywhere! I'll let you know when to stop." He sat down again beside Faith. "Well, do you think you'd like to be my wife?" he asked.

Faith shrank away from him, her face flushing.

"I don't know anything about you. You don't know anything about me," she stammered. He smiled.

"That can soon be remedied. My name is Nicholas Forrester, my real name, that is! I've been known by lots of others in my lifetime, but that's neither here nor there. I've got more money than I know what to do with. I'm like the poor devil in 'Brewster's Millions'—everything I touch turns to gold. Have you read 'Brewster's Millions'?"

"No."

"I'll tell you the story some day. There isn't time now. But if you marry me you can buy any mortal thing you like, except the moon or Buckingham Palace. Doesn't that attract you?" he asked dryly.

The colour surged back into Faith's pale face. She leaned a little towards him.

"Anything!" she asked.

The man looked faintly disappointed.

"I thought you were going to be different from other women," he said curtly. "Well, what is it you want, diamonds?"

"Diamonds!" She echoed the word blankly. "Oh, no, I was wondering if I could take mother away from Poplar, and send the twins to a nice school. They have to go to the Board School now," she explained. "If I can do that for them, I shan't want anything for myself." She raised apologetic eyes. "It's asking an awful lot, I know," she added.

The Beggar Man laid his hand for a moment on hers. Such a strong, kind hand it was, that instinctively the fear of him that had been in Faith's heart died away.

"It's not asking anything," he said. "We'll send the twins to the finest school in England if you like, and your mother can have a house in the country and anything else she wants—if you'll marry me!"

Faith's cheeks were crimson; her eyes on fire. It never occurred to her for a moment to refuse.

She looked up at him with brown eyes of gratitude unutterable. "I should just love to marry you," she said fervently.

The Beggar Man said "Humph!" For a moment there was a silence, during which he looked at her doubtfully; then:

"What about your mother?" he asked abruptly. "What do you think she will say?"

Faith's face fell a little; in her eagerness and excitement she had forgotten what her mother would say.

"I—I'm afraid she won't quite like it," she said slowly.

She was sure that her mother would not like it. Mrs. Ledley had always been so careful about Faith's choice of friends that the girl knew what an astonishing proposal she would consider this offer of marriage to be.

Mrs. Ledley could be very firm when she chose, and Faith knew well what opposition she would have to encounter.

A sudden idea flashed across her mind.

"But we need not tell her, need we?"

A faint smile crossed his face.

"You mean till we are married?"

"Yes."

There was another queer little silence, then the Beggar Man asked, with sudden change of voice: "Do you often keep things from your mother—like this?"

She shook her head.

"I never have, until now. There's never been anything to keep. Nobody has ever asked me to marry him before, but I thought—she would be so glad afterwards, when I told her how rich you were, and what we could do for her and for the twins."

"I see."

The Beggar Man looked away from her out of the window. The rain was still falling steadily, but he did not notice it. He was trying to see ahead into the future and wondering ... wondering....

Presently he turned again to the girl beside him.

"Of course," he said abruptly, "I should be a fool to ask you if you've got any ... any personal regard for me! How could you have when we've only met twice."

He waited hopefully it seemed, but Faith did not know how to answer him, and he went on rather ruefully:

"But, all the same, you're willing to marry me without telling your mother till afterwards?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that rather foolish?"

She flushed sensitively.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, that for all you know, I might be the biggest blackguard unhung. I might be wanted by the police—I might be all of a hundred and one unsavoury things. Do you realize that?"

Faith laughed now. She was not in the least afraid that he could be any of these things.

"I think you're the kindest man I've ever met," she said.

"Do you?" He laughed dryly. "But, then, you haven't met many men, I take it."

"No."

Another little silence.

"Have you got a mother?" Faith asked shyly.

He turned his head.

"I haven't a relative in the whole world as far as I know. I was born in Australia, and my mother died there, and my father broke his neck when I was fifteen."

"Broke his neck?" echoed Faith, horrified.

"Yes. We had a farm in Australia, twenty-eight miles from a town, and, when he was riding back home one night, the pony caught its foot and threw him." He paused. "I found him lying along the track next morning," he added grimly.

Faith drew a long breath.

"And you were only fifteen! How awful!"

"Yes, it was pretty bad. I know I sat there beside him in the scorching sun and cried for half the day, till someone came along and took me home."

"And—then?" she asked.

"Oh, I've roughed it in thousands of ways since then, and I'm tired of roughing it. That's why I want to get married." His eyes softened as they looked at her. "I think you and I will get on well together," he said.

"Yes," Faith assented. "I think so, too."

"And I'm to fix it up without your mother knowing, is that it?"

"Yes—if you—if you don't mind."

He laughed. "Bless your heart, it's not for me to mind! I'll get a special licence, and we can be married to-morrow."

She caught her breath.

"To-morrow! Oh, it's too soon!"

"Too soon! What is there to wait for?"

"I shall have to tell them at Heeler's, and there's Peg...."

"That friend of yours? Well—tell her afterwards—when you tell your mother."

Faith wavered. She would like to have told Peg, but she answered after a moment: "Oh, very well, but—but not to-morrow!"

"Very well—on Saturday, then—that gives you three days to fix things."

"Thank you."

His eyes wandered over her small person.

"Have you got any money?" he demanded.

"I get paid on Saturday—two pounds."

"Two pounds! Good heavens!"—he thrust a hand into his breast pocket, and brought out a bundle of notes. "I'll give you twenty—buy some clothes and make yourself look pretty."

Faith turned from red to white. She drew back when he would have put the money into her hands.

"I can't. Oh, I couldn't," she faltered. "Oh, I should be afraid——"

"Afraid!" He regarded her in amazement, and then, suddenly aware of the tears in her eyes, he added: "Very well—I'll give you ten—is that better? And will that buy a frock?"

She laughed tremulously. "Why, it will buy us all one—me and the twins—and lots of other things besides!"

She gathered up the money with shaking fingers. She was sure that she was dreaming. Even the touch of the crisp banknotes seemed unreal! What would her mother say? What would Peg say? Her head was in a whirl.

"I think I'll drive you back home now," the Beggar Man said, suddenly. "Your mother will be wondering where you are." He spoke to the driver, and the taxi turned about.

The Beggar Man was sitting opposite to Faith now. He kept looking at her in a queer, nervous sort of way. Suddenly he said in his abrupt manner:

"Do you mind if—if I kiss you?"

She raised her brown eyes.

"If you kiss—me!" She echoed the words with fluttering incredulity. "Oh, no, of course not—if you really want to."

"Thank you." He leaned across and kissed her cheek awkwardly.

There was a little silence, then he said, angrily: "Of course, some people would call me an absolute blackguard!"

She looked at him in amazement.

"Why, what do you mean?"

He explained disjointedly.

"You're such a child—and I'm nearly twenty years older than you are. You don't realize what you're doing—marrying me. I may make your life miserable." She smiled serenely.

"You couldn't! How could you? I'm going to be ever so happy." She drew a long breath of rapture. "It's just like a novelette," she said again fervently. The Beggar Man frowned. He let the window down with a run; the rain had almost stopped.

"I think we're quite near your home," he said.

"Perhaps you would rather walk the rest of the way? Or shall I come in and see your mother?"

Faith started up. "Oh, no—I'll walk; I'd much rather."

The taxi stopped and the man got out.

"Well—good-bye. Till to-morrow," he said.

She looked up eagerly.

"Oh, shall I see you again to-morrow?"

"I'll meet you outside Heeler's in the evening."

She looked like a delighted child.

"That will be three days running that I've seen you," she said.

He smiled rather grimly.

"You'll have to see me all day and every day after Saturday," he answered.