Out in the street the sky had grown overcast. Heavy drops were spattering the pavement. "We'd better have a taxicab," the man said. Faith stood on the kerb while he went in pursuit of a taxicab. It seemed wonderful to her that anybody should have so much money that a taxicab was an ordinary everyday luxury. It was raining steadily by the time they drove away. The man pulled up the window. "My luck's in," he said abruptly. "I wanted to speak to you and it would not have been possible if we had walked." His grey eyes searched her wistful face doubtfully, then he went on again: "I've taken a fancy to you. There's something about you I like. I should be very pleased if with all my money I could do something to make your life happier. I've never seen your mother or the twins, but I should like to see them." The colour rose slowly to Faith's face. She was sure now that he was joking. "Of course, you don't mean it!" she said quiveringly. "Don't mean it? Good heavens!" The man laughed. "I do mean it, every word! When we were having tea just now I did a lot of thinking. I am a man who makes up his mind quickly and sticks to it. Now, look here, I'm going to make you an offer--without sentiment or any nonsense of that sort. I want a wife, and I want a girl who hasn't been spoilt by the tomfoolery of the world. I want a girl I can mould to my own ideas. I'll treat her well and be a good husband to a woman who could fancy me." He paused. "Well, what do you say?" Faith was staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips. His astounding proposition had robbed her of speech. It was some seconds before she could gasp out, "What do you mean? What do you mean?" "I mean," said the Beggar Man earnestly, "that I'd like to marry you, if you think you'd care about it." It was many moments before Faith could find her voice; many moments before she could conquer the conviction that all this was a dream. Then she broke out, unconsciously using the words of Peg Fraser's favourite ejaculation: "It's like a novelette." She really thought it was; she was breathless with astonishment, dazed with the unexpectedness of it all. The Beggar Man laughed. "Is it? They always say that truth is stranger than fiction, don't they?" He let down the window of the cab and thrust his head out, calling to the driver: "Go down the West End--the park--anywhere! I'll let you know when to stop." He sat down again beside Faith. "Well, do you think you'd like to be my wife?" he asked. Faith shrank away from him, her face flushing. "I don't know anything about you. You don't know anything about me," she stammered. He smiled. "That can soon be remedied. My name is Nicholas Forrester, my _real_ name, that is! I've been known by lots of others in my lifetime, but that's neither here nor there. I've got more money than I know what to do with. I'm like the poor devil in 'Brewster's Millions'--everything I touch turns to gold. Have you read 'Brewster's Millions'?" "No."