"Not exactly," stammered Faith, "but it is almost as unpleasant. It is from a man whom Bob Hardy spoke to me about--a fellow who thinks because I am poor that he can buy my soul with his superfluous money!" CHAPTER XXVII. THE POISONED CANDY. But Faith had only read a part of the letter when she made her statement, for, on a closer perusal, she found she was mistaken. If the writer had ever dreamed of tempting her with the lure of proffered luxury he admitted his change of opinion in terms of honest candor. "Dear Child," the letter read, "since our meeting the other evening I have been thinking constantly how I best could win your esteem and affection. That I should desire the friendship of a pure, young girl would sound strange to the ears of many worldly people, but to you, who are as distant from worldliness as are the angels in heaven, the suggestion can bring only bewildering sensations. To say that I am ashamed does not half express my feelings. To say that I wish to make immediate amends does not convey to you the half of my eagerness in that direction. "Will you allow me to call upon you at your home? This is the request of a man who was once a gentleman, but who, through the bitterness of disappointment, had lost faith in all things holy." The letter was signed "Cornelius C. Deering." Faith read it over and over--the signature was in a measure familiar, but just at that time she could not place it. As she tucked the letter in her pocket, Mr. Gunning approached the counter. He was twirling his mustache with his coarse, blunt fingers, and there was a superciliousness in his manner that was almost disgusting. "Perhaps you are not aware, Number 411, that we don't allow that sort of thing here," he said in a loud tone. "If you must have such improper notes from men, please see that they are not delivered during business hours. I can't have you wasting time in reading letters!" For a moment the floor seemed sinking beneath Faith's feet, but it was not altogether from the effect of his words--it was the shock of finding out that Miss Jones was treacherous. For a moment it seemed incomprehensible that she should have repeated her remark, but how else could the floor-walker have guessed that her letter was either from a "man" or "improper"? She almost bit her tongue in her effort to keep silent, and at first she was even tempted to show the fellow the letter. "It was not my fault that the letter came to me here," she said finally. "Believe me, Mr. Gunning, it would not have happened if I could have prevented it." "Oh, of course, you can't help men writing love letters to you," said the fellow, impudently; "but if I see any more of them I shall report it to Mr. Gibson! Our rules are very strict. There is to be no flirting in the building!"