"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.