NEW EAGLE SERIES No. 1156 The Man She Hated _By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller_ [Illustration] The Man She Hated OR, WON BY STRATEGY BY MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER Author of “A Married Flirt,” “Loyal Unto Death,” “Only a Kiss,” “My Pretty Maid,” etc. Published in the New Eagle Series. [Illustration] STREET & SMITH CORPORATION PUBLISHERS 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York Copyright, 1888 NORMAN L. MUNRO Renewal for 28 years, from August 23, 1916, granted to Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller The Man She Hated (Printed in the United States of America) THE MAN SHE HATED. CHAPTER I. THE FACTORY GIRLS. “Fair Fielding, I heard something about you last night,” said one of the sewing girls in an uptown factory in New York to her nearest neighbor, a very young girl, whose red-brown head was bent over a sewing machine as she deftly guided her work, a heap of fine white muslin, beneath the shining needle. “What?” asked Fairfax Fielding, lifting her sparkling brown eyes--they were the brightest, softest, loveliest brown eyes, although their owner was only a little sewing girl--a garment maker. You would not find in a day’s journey a prettier face than hers, with its complexion as smooth and clear as the petals of a creamy tea rose, its piquant dimples whenever she smiled, its well-shaped features, and broad, intelligent, white brow, shaded by babyish, curling locks of hair that the girls teasingly called red, but which in reality was beautiful, dusky, red gold, with such warm glints of light in its dark waves that it made other colors appear tame and common by contrast. With that shining hair, those liquid brown eyes, and that expression of gentleness and purity marking the fair brow and rosebud lips, Fair was more than pretty. Sadie Allen smiled roguishly, and said: “I heard you were going to get married, that’s what!” There was a little feminine titter from every girl in the range of hearing, and Fair’s dainty wild-rose bloom deepened to angry scarlet. “It’s not true, and I don’t believe you ever heard it, Sadie Allen. You’re only trying to tease me, for you know I have no beaus; and, what’s more, don’t want any,” she retorted spiritedly. “You forget Waverley Osborne,” said a teasing voice on the other side of Fair’s machine. There was a double row of sewing machines in the large room, all fastened to two long, narrow tables, with small round niches cut on the sides, in which the operators sat at their machines.