He put out his hand and seized her arm, looking at her, devouring her, in a kind of angry passion.
Carrie grew a little pale, and, coming nearer, she laid her head against his knee.
'Father, you don't understand what we propose.'
'Well, out with it, then!'
'We wouldn't think about being married for three years. Why, of course we wouldn't! I don't want to be all settled that soon. And, besides, we're going abroad—you and mummy and I. I'm going to take you!' She sat up, tossing her pretty head, her eyes as bright as stars.
'And be thinking all the time of the Canadian chap?—bored with everything!' growled Fenwick.
Carrie surveyed him. A film of tears sparkled.
'I'm never bored. Father!'—she held herself erect, throwing all her soul into every word—'George is—awfully—nice!'
Ah! the 'life-force'! There it was before him, embodied in this light, ardent creature, on whose brown head and white dress the June sun streamed through the sycamore-leaves. With a groan—suddenly—Fenwick weakened.
'What's his horrid name?—who is he?—quick!'