He had meant to be kind and affectionate, but the antagonism in that one monosyllable dispersed all his good resolutions. He was sick of scenes, tired of being held at arms' length; reluctantly he had grown to see that this marriage had been the greatest mistake of his life, that he had been a fool to imagine he could mould this girl to his own wishes and desires, child as she seemed. There was a strong will in the slim, soft body which defied him. With a swift movement he caught her in his arms. She gave a quick, frightened breath, but before she could speak he had kissed her lips--kissed the eyes that closed in terror before his, and the soft face that turned from him with such desperation. She was a child in his arms, but though she could not escape from him, her lips felt like steel beneath his. He might break her body, but he could never bend her will. Through every nerve in his body he could feel that she hated and feared him, and at last with sullen anger and bitterness he let her go, so violently that she staggered and almost 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