l better?"

"Yes." She began a trembling apology. "It was the sun, I suppose; it's
been so hot all day."

"Do you work in the city?"

"Yes--at Heeler's."

"Oh, that place!" There was a note of disparagement in the man's voice.
"Now tell me where you live?" he said again.

She told him reluctantly. Poplar and its poor surroundings seemed so
terribly far removed from this man and the magnificence of the car in
which they were driving.

He repeated her directions to the chauffeur and the car quickened its
speed.

Faith was feeling almost herself again. The air beat on her pale cheeks
and stirred the soft hair on her forehead. She stole a shy glance at the
man opposite to her.

Not very young--quite forty, she decided--not very good-looking. Big and
burly, a little clumsy in build, the fastidious might have said, but
strong and manly, with a square jaw that spoke of strength and
determination, and humorous grey eyes set rather deeply in his brown
face. His soft hat was worn with a rather Colonial tilt.

He was perfectly aware of her scrutiny, and after a moment he asked
whimsically:

"Well, what do you make of me?"

Faith flushed to the roots of her hair.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered. "I know it was rude--I didn't mean
anything."

The man laughed carelessly. "No need to apologise," he said. "I was only
wondering what sort of a chap I appeared to you."

She did not answer, and he went on: "You're thinking that I'm to be
envied with this car and all the other things you can imagine I've got
stored up at home--eh?"

Faith clasped her hands.

"I think you must be the happiest man in the world," she said
fervently.

The man smiled grimly. "Yes, that's what everyone thinks," he said.
"And, of course, you would not believe me if I were to tell you that
there is no man in the world so poor as I am."

She stared at him with wide eyes of incredulity.

"Why, no!" she breathed.

His eyes softened a little. "Have you got a mother?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes."

"And do you love her?"

"Oh, yes!" said Faith.

"Anyone else--any other people?" he asked.

"Two little sisters," said Faith, and her voice was eager. She loved to
speak of her sisters. "They're just the dearest little mites," she
urged. "They're twins, just turned six."

The man nodded. "In fact, when you're at home, you're happy, eh?" he
asked.

"Oh, yes," said Faith again, earnestly. "If only we'd got a little more
money, we'd all be qu