Faith was vaguely disappointed. She had been so sure that Peg would see the romance of her adventure. She worked badly that day; her fingers seemed all thumbs. Twice the forewoman spoke to her sharply, and once Peg said with a faint smile: "You're thinking about that car, aren't you, Faith?" The girl flushed sensitively, with quick denial. "Of course not." But she knew that she was. She looked at herself anxiously in a tiny glass before she started home. For the first time she realized how pale and thin she was, and how poor her clothes. Her heart swelled with a sense of the injustice of life as she trudged along the hot streets. To-day there was no Beggar Man, no wonderful car gliding up to the kerb to pick her up and carry her the weary way home; such a thing could not happen a second time. "But it was only a story, Faith...." That was what her mother had said, so perhaps everything wonderful in life was just a story, too--never coming true! She quickened her steps with a feeling of shame. The day of miracles had passed; fairy princes did not go about the East End of London disguised as big, burly men with kind eyes. Faith turned a corner sharply and came face to face with "the Beggar Man."... He pulled up short with a conventional apology, then all at once he smiled. "I was thinking of you a moment ago. It was just here that we met yesterday, wasn't it?" "Yes." Faith had flushed like a rose. "I was just thinking of you, too," she said, with courage born of her delight. He looked at her. "Have you had your tea?" he asked in his abrupt manner. "No, I'm just going home." "Then we'll have some tea first; there's a shop just along the road." Faith followed obediently. He looked younger to-day, she thought, and better-looking! She wished with all her heart that Peg or some of the other girls could see her. They faced one another across a marble-topped table, and the man ordered tea and cakes. "Are you hungry?" he asked. Faith shook her head; she was too pleased to be hungry. She kept telling herself that, of course, it must be a dream. Under cover of the table she gave herself a hard pinch to make sure that she was really awake.... "You're not eating anything," the man said, and she awoke with a start to realities. "How old are you?" he asked, and she told him with fluttering haste, "I'm nineteen." "Nineteen!" He raised his brows. "I should have said sixteen," he smiled. "How old do you think I am?" She considered for a moment. "Forty?" she hazarded. He laughed. "Not quite so bad; I'm six-and-thirty." "Oh!" She looked at him gravely. "It's not very old," she said kindly. "Nearly twenty years older than you," he reminded her. "Yes."