"Poplar. That's where she lived till she got married. I lived there, too. It's a frightful hole! No wonder she hates London; you would if you'd seen the rotten side of it as we have." Faith glanced quickly at her husband. She was so sure that he would be angry with Peg for her frankness, but to her surprise he was smiling. "One would hardly choose the East End for a permanent residence, certainly," Digby said, in some perplexity; "but everyone to their taste." "It wasn't a question of 'taste,'" Peg said dryly; "it was more like Hobson's choice. I had to be where the bread and cheese was, and it happened to be in Poplar--that's all." There was a little silence. Digby was beginning to see that he was on delicate ground. "I think we ought to be turning back," Forrester said. They retraced their steps silently. "Shall we change places going home?" Faith asked, as she slipped into her big coat when they reached the car again. She looked at Peg. "Perhaps you would rather sit in the front for a change," she said hesitatingly. Peg looked at the Beggar Man, and he answered for her readily: "We were quite comfortable as we were, I think, Miss Fraser?" "Quite," said Peg. Faith took a hurried step towards Digby. "Oh, very well. I would really prefer to sit in the front; I only thought it would look rather selfish." There was a note of uncertainty in her voice, and Peg's blue eyes gleamed with a vixenish light as she settled herself comfortably beside Forrester. They were rather silent on the way home, but beneath her gaudy veil Peg's quick brain was hard at work. She knew that Faith was faintly resentful, if not actively jealous, and a sense of triumph warmed her heart. She had read in one of her favourite novelettes of a heroine who had never appreciated the goodness and worth of the man to whom she was married until another woman--a "syren" she had been called in the story--had stolen him from her, and with a wild flight of sentimental imagination she already saw herself nicely fitted with the part. She stole a little glance at Forrester, and a sigh shook her. What happiness to be loved by such a man! Nothing that she had ever come across in fiction could yield half such exquisite bliss. To be his wife! To be with him always!... She lost herself in a world of dreams. Never once did she think now of his wealth, nor the advantages to be gained from it. The man himself filled the picture of her thoughts. She could have been equally happy with him in the dreary streets of Poplar as in the luxury of the house at Hampstead. How she had hated him at first! How she had sneered at Faith and tried to set her against him, and now the scales had tipped the other way and left her kneeling at his feet.