Carrie had been standing behind her father during this conversation; she came now and sat on the arm of his chair, bent down, and whispered a few words in his ear. He rose, and taking her hand in his held it for a moment and then laid it in Phil’s. ‘She belongs to you now, Philip Meadowes,’ he said. ‘Oh, dada dear, love him too!’ pleaded Carrie, and the tears gathered in her blue eyes at the cold sound of her father’s voice. ‘You ask the impossible, Carrie,’ said he. ‘Perhaps, sir, time may soften the prejudice you entertain for me,’ said Phil. ‘Indeed I shall do my utmost to make Carrie a good husband.’ ‘Do not misunderstand me, Meadowes,’ said Sebastian. ‘The feeling I have against you is quite impersonal, else I had not given you Carrie’s hand in marriage. I think you will make her happy; but for all that I cannot be your friend, I cannot bear to look upon your face!’ He rose at the last words and left the room, and Carrie and Phil looked at each in perplexity. ‘Ah, Phil, ’tis terrible,’ said Carrie, ‘and I so happy! my dearest father——’ Phil refused to look upon the tragic side of the case, however. He was far too pleased to think anything very far wrong. ‘Dear heart, you must not grieve; Dr. Shepley will forget after a time; the best you can do is to marry me at once. When that is done he will forgive you. He thinks now to prevent the wedding by his displeasure, but when he sees that impossible his resentment will die out. Come, Carrie, the sooner you arrange for our marriage the better ’twill be for all concerned.’ Perhaps Carrie did not need very much persuasion. Two years of waiting had been quite long enough. ‘I shall see my aunt, Lady Mallow, and she will decide the date for us,’ she said, and then, as Phil prepared to go, she whispered, ‘I shall make her arrange it soon.’ CHAPTER XXVIII In spite of her happiness Carrie made a very tearful bride. The parting from her father was exquisitely painful to her, and not all Phil’s endearments could at first bring a smile to her lips. For Sebastian had told her that he could have nothing to do with her now, that their parting was final. The only way in which Carrie could hear of how he fared was by sending Peter to inquire of Patty, and Patty (a mature spinster), while she inwardly exclaimed over the turn of Fortune’s wheel which thus brought her former admirer again to her door, was fain to invent messages which would reassure Carrie’s anxious heart. ‘Lor’! Mr. Peter,’ she would say, ‘’tis distressful to see the Doctor now-a-days.—And how doth dear Miss Carrie (as was) do?’ ‘Mrs. Meadowes has her health perfect,’ Peter would respond, ‘but is ever fretting over the Doctor, so I had best make up some message from you, and mayhap some evening you might step down to the Square yourself and make her more easy in the mind about him?’