"Yes." She drew back a little, her eyes dilating, and he broke out again abruptly: "I wish I'd arranged to take you with me. I was a fool. It could have been managed. Will you come if even now I can take you?" She gave a little cry of alarm. "Oh, no, I couldn't. There's mother...." He turned away with a little harsh laugh. "I see. Your mother and the twins," he said dryly. "They all come before me, who am only your husband." She looked at him with puzzled eyes, and, vaguely realizing that in some way he was hurt, she said apologetically: "But I've known you such a little time." He echoed her words ironically. "Yes! You've known me such a little time." Then he laughed, more naturally, and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you're my wife anyway. Nothing can alter that. And when I come back...." he paused. "Yes," Faith echoed, "when you come back...." "Then," he said again slowly, "I'll teach you to think more of me than you do either of your mother--or the twins!" There was the faintest note of fun in his voice though his eyes were grave, and Faith smiled, relieved. "I love mother best in the whole world," she said seriously. The Beggar Man nodded. "Some day you will love me best," he said. He took both her hands, drawing her to her feet. "So, it's good-bye for a little. It's all been such a rush; but I've done the best I can. My lawyers know all about our marriage, and if anything should happen to me you'll be all right. Shawyer will look after you if you want any help. Here's his address." He put an envelope into her hand. "There's some more money, too--enough to keep you going till I'm back." Faith took the envelope, which felt extravagantly bulky. "I haven't spent what you gave me yesterday," she reminded him. "But you soon will," he answered. "Once you start shopping." There was a little silence, and they looked at one another shyly. Then the Beggar Man said, with an effort: "Well, it's time I was going. I sent my baggage on last night. What are you going to do?" "I'm going home." "I should like you to have stayed here, but ... perhaps it's best for you to go home." He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her gently towards him. "Good-bye, my little wife." Faith laid her hand on his chest, as if to hold him away; then suddenly she melted: "Oh, I hope you'll soon, soon come back," she said, as a child might have done, and she raised her face for his kiss. They said good-bye in the street with a handshake, just like ordinary friends, and Faith stood looking after the cab that carried him away. He had gone out of her life as quickly and strangely as he had entered it.