fell, catching at the table to save herself.

He waited, pale to the lips and breathless, for the storm of sobbing
which he thought would come, but though she put up her shaking hands to
hide her face and the crimson patches left by the roughness of his
kisses, she did not shed a tear. She only said over and over again in a
broken-hearted little whisper, "Oh, mother--mother ... mother...."

"Faith!" The Beggar Man took a quick step towards her. "Faith! Oh, for
God's sake...." But he did not touch her, and for a long moment there
was silence. Then she looked up at him, haggard-eyed and piteous.

"Oh, please--please go away."

"Faith----" But she only shook her head, and he turned and went out of
the room, shutting the door behind him....

There followed a terrible week of scenes and tears and defiance and
pleading; Forrester suffered every emotion by turn at her hands. He
tried indifference, firmness, kindness,--they all failed him, and the
only way left to him--brute force--he would not try.

And then one evening as Peg was walking home from the factory, deeply
engrossed in the last chapter of a new novelette, someone spoke her
name.

"Miss Fraser!" She looked up, startled, dragging herself from the ardent
words of the Honourable Fitzmaurice Arlington, to find the Beggar Man
beside her.

"You!" she said blankly. Then with quick suspicion, "Is Faith ill?"

"Yes--no! At least ... Oh, God only knows." He laughed mirthlessly.
"I've come to ask if your offer is still open," he went on bitterly. "I
mean--will you come and stay with us in my flat? Live with us if you
like. Anything, if you'll only come. Will you?"

Peg stuffed the novelette into a pocket; the story of the Honourable
Fitzmaurice Arlington suddenly paled beside this real-life romance.

A beatific smile overspread her handsome face.

"Will I come?" she echoed. "Well, I should say so!"

CHAPTER VIII

By bringing Peg Fraser to the flat the Beggar Man acknowledged his
defeat.

If he had not been so sure of Faith's hatred he might have tried harder
to overcome her prejudices, but he felt that hatred was an active force
through which success was impossible.

He said as much to Mr. Shawyer.

"I've been a fool, I know! I suppose the whole thing was bound to be a
failure from the start, but she seemed to like me...." He shrugged his
shoulders. "What's the best thing to do?" he asked.

Mr. Shawyer hesitated. He was disappointed over this mar