"Do you keep them?" Faith smiled. "Oh, no! I help--we take lodgers." "Oh." For a moment Peg was silent, treadling away busily at her machine, and Faith stole a timid glance at her. Peg was handsome in a bold sort of way. She had jet black hair and a high colour, blue eyes, a little hard in expression, and a fine figure. She was a power to reckon with in the room in which she worked, as Faith was quick to discover. Even the forewoman, who was thin-lipped and shrewish, seemed a little afraid of her. Presently she asked another question: "What was your father?" Faith flushed sensitively. "He was a gentleman," she said proudly. Peg's blue eyes opened wide and for a moment she stopped work. Then: "My father was a night-watchman," she said dryly. She snapped off a thread with a vicious little gesture. "He was a drunken brute," she added vehemently. "We were all glad when he died. Were you glad when yours died?" Faith's eyes clouded with tears. "No," she said; "it was like the end of everything." Peg paused again to regard her with curiosity. She had never met a girl quite like this one before. "What did he die of?" she asked blankly after a moment. It was Faith's turn now to stop work; she looked up with a sudden flush in her pale face. "He was ruined," she said. "Someone took all his money, and it killed him." "Oh," said Peg, thoughtfully. "Like a novelette. I suppose your mother was a lady," she added with a touch of sarcasm. Faith answered simply enough: "She was in a shop at Clapham when father married her, and his people never forgave him." "You mean because they were swells?" "Yes, I suppose so; I've never seen any of them." "It's like a novelette again," said Peg, and fell upon her machine with renewed energy. It was some moments before she next spoke. "It licks me why you've come here. You'll loathe it like poison before you've been here a week. The noise of the machines gets on your nerves and makes you want to scream. Miss Dell gets on your nerves, too." She nodded in the direction of the thin-lipped forewoman. "You'll hate her, and you'll hate the sight of things like these and all the rich, hateful people who buy them." She caught up a dainty silk blouse from the table beside her and shook it contemptuously. "Do you know Scammel?" "Scammel?" Faith echoed the name blankly. "No; who is he?" "He owns this place," Peg explained. "There's no Heeler in it really--it's just a name. It's Scammel we're all swotting to make money for," she added. "And I hate him----" "You seem to hate a lot of things and people," Faith said timidly. "So would you if you knew as much as I do," was the sharp retort. Faith pushed the soft hair back from her forehead; she was beginning to feel unutterably fagged. "I don't think I could hate anyone very much," she said, "except the man who ruined father," she added slowly. Peg said "Humph!" and for some moments they worked silently. Then Faith asked again: "What is he like?"