‘I meant to choose her husband. Englishman though I am, I am foreigner enough to believe in marriages made by the parents. But I love my child, and would not willingly compel her fancy.’ Phil sat silent, and looked much taken aback. Meredith gently wandered on, as was his way when once started on a favourite theme. ‘But I find, Signor, that a steady will and a gentle tact mould circumstances as well as individuals. I cannot act as other men do. I might even be held as helpless and dependent, and yet I find I have but to sit here and plan and _will_, and the rest follows of itself. I could say much upon that wonderful power—the human will.’ The monstrous egotism of the man passed unheeded; but his vague hints made Phil very uneasy. ‘I do not know if I have followed you, Signor; do you mean that your will has brought to you such a husband as you have desired for your daughter?’ ‘Circumstances have brought the man; my will, or my child’s charms have done the rest. I knew all would follow when he had appeared.’ Phil almost feared to ask the next question. ‘Is the Signorina, then, already betrothed?’ ‘Yes, certainly.’ There was a brief pause before the next question. ‘And may I ask to whom?’ ‘Oh yes; to our good friend Philip Debenham, the master of Ladywell Manor.’ ‘Ah!’ ‘You are surprised, it seems. Is it anything so very strange that he should love my child?’ ‘Why, no—oh no—not at all; but I did not know—I had not heard.’ ‘No, probably not. I have not alluded to the matter before, and young maidens do not speak of what lies so near to their hearts.’ ‘The Signorina is, without doubt, deeply attached to—to Signor Debenham.’ ‘Most deeply. It is a warm attachment on both sides. I perceived it from the first, long before the young people were aware of it themselves;’ and Mr. Meredith smiled his quiet, satisfied smile. ‘They have known each other long, no doubt?’ ‘Not very long; but time has little to do with such matters, as you may find out for yourself one day, Signor. It is we elders who think of time, and count the weeks the acquaintance has lasted, before giving our consent. But in this case I had no scruple. I had loved the father—I loved and trusted the son, and could give my daughter to him with my blessing.’ ‘For the sake of the father?’ said Phil, in a strange, forced tone. ‘First for the father’s sake, then for his own. No one who owns the name of Debenham can but be dear to me.’ Phil mastered himself by an effort; but his silence had not passed unnoticed. ‘I weary you by these personal details, Signor,’ said Meredith courteously. ‘I forget, in my blindness, that my little world is not all-absorbing to others. I hear Roma’s voice in the garden. She will prove a pleasanter companion than I; and I will rest awhile, as I feel fatigued by this heat.’ With bitter feelings surging in his heart, Phil left the presence of the blind man.