With every passing moment now it came home to her afresh how much she had lost, how much she had thrown away in her wilfulness and blindness.
She had been jealous of Peg, and now that Peg was dead, it would not help her at all. Forrester had done with her. She had seen it in his eyes last night, heard it in his voice.
Mr. Shawyer came back from the window and looked down at her very kindly.
"Surely it is worth sacrificing a little pride to win a great happiness," he said.
He waited a moment, but she did not speak, and he went away and left her.
A great many people seemed to come to the house. The door-bell was always ringing, and strange men were shut up in the study with Forrester, asking questions and making notes.
It was about Peg, Faith knew—Peg, who had died to save the Beggar Man's life, Peg whom she would never see again.
Later, driven by an irresistible impulse and her own terrible loneliness, she went up to Peg's empty bedroom and stood in the doorway.
Its gaudiness no longer offended her, though the bright sunlight flooded the room and shone glaringly on the brilliant green cushions and horrible wall-paper.
Peg's Oriental slippers stood at the foot of the bed and her gay dressing-gown hung limply across a chair.