Ten Books on Architecture by Vitruvius (english novels for students .txt) 📕

doubt of it. But what then? She could not be responsible for all the young men who fell in love with Pauline. It was very natural; and, to tell the honest truth, it rather pleased Mrs. Grey to see it. Not that she had the most distant idea that Pauline could ever feel any interest in any of the young men she with such quiet complacency thought hopelessly in love with her; but poor human nature is never weaker than on such subjects, and mothers look on amused, and may be, indignant with other mothers for allowing such things, till it comes to their turn, and then maternal vanity speaks louder than worldly wisdom, or any thing else; and so Mrs. Grey saw Mr. Wentworth's devotions with a quiet smile, and never thought it worth while to ask any questions about him. "He would not do," she saw that at a glance. As to what would, or who would, she had not yet made up her mind; but as Mr. Wentworth's pretensions did not seem of any decided stamp at all, she never thought there was any possibility of his being dangerous.

"I wonder Mrs. Grey allows that young Wentworth to be so attentive to her daughter," Mrs. Remson said. "He's a dissipated young man, they say."

"I am sorry to see that wild fellow, Wentworth, so much with that young beauty, Miss Grey," said another.

"Yes, I am surprised at her parents encouraging it," said a third, "for they must see it."

"What kind of a young man is he?" asked Mrs. Graham.

"One that I should be sorry to see attentive to a daughter of mine," replied a gentleman; but none of this reached Mrs. Grey's ears. No one told her Mr. Wentworth was wild or dissipated. He was too attentive, and they might get themselves in trouble, and be obliged to give authority, &c., for what they said—and what authority had they? a rumor—a vague report—an impression. Who knew, or ever knows, any thing more positive about a young man, except, indeed, young men—and they don't choose to tell.

And so the thing went on, and people talked, and wondered, and found fault, and everybody but Mr. and Mrs. Grey, whom it most concerned, knew a great deal; and they, though they had eyes, saw not; and ears had they, but heard not; and understandings, and heeded not—deaf and blind, as parents always are, until too late.

The thunderbolt fell at last, however. Mr. Wentworth, in form, asked Mr. Grey's consent to address Pauline, which Mr. Grey very decidedly refused, looking upon the young man as very presumptuous even to ask it; whereupon Mr. Wentworth informed the father that he was authorized by his daughter to address him on the subject, and her happiness being involved as well as his own, he trusted Mr. Grey would re-consider his proposal, and incline more favorably to his suit.

Amazement was Mr. Grey's only feeling on first hearing this announcement. He could scarcely believe his ears, much less take in the subject-matter in all its bearings.

Again, however, he refused his consent, and forbade Mr. Wentworth to think of his daughter.

He immediately communicated the conversation to his wife, who was not less surprised than himself, but who relieved him excessively by saying at once that there must be some misunderstanding on the young man's part, for Pauline, she knew, took no interest in him whatever. That is, Mrs. Grey took it for granted that Pauline must see him with her eyes, and did not hesitate to answer for the fact.

She went at once to Pauline's room, where she found her lying on the sofa, a book open in her hand, but evidently lost in a world of dreamy and pleasant revery. With very little circumlocution, for Mrs. Grey was too much excited to choose her words carefully, she repeated to Pauline her conversation with her father; whereupon Pauline rose, and sitting up, her color changing, but her eye clear and bright, said,

"Surely, mother, you knew it all."

"Knew what, Pauline?"

"That Mr. Wentworth was attached to me, and that I—I—"

"Surely, Pauline," exclaimed Mrs. Grey, hastily, "you are not interested in him."

"Yes," answered Pauline, roused by her mother's tone and manner to something of her old spirit, and looking at her fully and clearly, all diffidence having now vanished in the opposition she saw before her, "I am—I love him, love him with my whole soul."

"Pauline, my child, are you mad!" almost shrieked Mrs. Grey, shocked almost past the power of endurance by her daughter's tones and words.

"I am not mad, no mother," said Pauline, with an emphasis, as if she thought her mother might be. "And why do you speak thus to me? You introduced Mr. Wentworth yourself to me; you first invited him here—and why, mother, do you affect this surprise now?" and Pauline's color deepened, and her voice quivered as she thought, with a sense of her mother's inconsistency and injustice.

"I introduced him to you, Pauline! Yes, I believe I did—but what of that? Do you suppose—no, Pauline, you are a girl of too much sense to suppose that I must be willing you should marry every man I introduce or invite to the house."

"What are your objections to Mr. Wentworth?" asked Pauline, firmly.

"My objections, Pauline! My child, you drive me almost mad!" said Mrs. Grey, her daughter's manner forcing on her more and more the conviction of the earnestness of her present fancy—for Mrs. Grey could not think it more. "Why, Pauline, I have every objection to him. What pretensions has he that should entitle him to dream of you, Pauline? You, my child, with your talents and beauty, and acquirements, are not surely going to throw yourself away upon this young man, who is every way inferior to you."

"Mother," said Pauline, with energy, "you don't know him."

Mrs. Grey was silenced. She did not know him. There was that in his countenance, air, and manner, although what might be called rather a handsome young man, that is unmistakable to a practiced eye—traces of a common mind, a something that had satisfied Mrs. Grey "he would not do," when she had dismissed him from her mind. But what had she to say to Pauline now?

She talked of her disappointment—of her hopes—her expectations; but Pauline said she was not ambitious, and wanted none of these things.

Mrs. Grey was in despair. Pauline grew more and more resolute. Her eye flashed, and her color rose, and the brow was bent, as when she was a child. She and her mother talked long, and even warmly; and Mrs. Grey returned to her husband, leaving Pauline in a state of great excitement.

Mr. Grey was much disturbed by what his wife told him; but still, though agitated, he was not as distressed as she was. The thing must not and should not be—there he was firm—though he was pained, exceedingly pained, that Pauline should be unhappy about it.

He looked upon her grief as of course a temporary feeling, but still, even for her temporary sorrow he grieved exceedingly.

He wrote that evening to Mr. Wentworth, desiring him to discontinue his visits, as he could not sanction his attachment, nor consent to a continuance of his attentions.

The letter was dispatched, and both parents felt better for the step. They considered the thing as finally at an end; and though Pauline might rebel a little at not having been consulted; yet it was done, and they seemed to think it could not be undone.

Much they knew about the matter. A letter from the young lover to Pauline herself, blew all these wise conclusions to the four winds of heaven.

She protested—and with some show of reason—that her father and mother had no right to dismiss Mr. Wentworth in this summary way; that they had encouraged—certainly permitted his attentions; that her mother had introduced him herself—for she harped upon that string—and she poured forth such a torrent of words and tears at the same time, that Mr. Grey finally said,

"Well, Pauline, to satisfy you, I will make inquiries relative to Mr. Wentworth's character and standing, and should the report be favorable, and your attachment lasting, I do not know that we should have any right to refuse our consent, although it's not a match, my child, that we can like. But on the other hand, Pauline, should I find him unworthy of you, as I am inclined to believe he is, you, on your part, must submit to what is inevitable, for I never will give my consent to your marrying a man whose character is not irreproachable."

Partially appeased, Pauline retired to her room, where Mrs. Grey spent the rest of the day in trying to convince Pauline that even if Mr. Wentworth were respectable in point of character, he was not in mind, manner, or appearance, at all her equal. That, in fact, he was a very common sort of a person, which was the truth; but strange though the fact might be, and there was no more accounting for it than denying it, Pauline was desperately in love with this very same very common young man; and talk as Mrs. Grey would, she could not change her feelings, or make her see him with her eyes.

She could only wait the result of Mr. Grey's investigations; and most devoutly she hoped they might prove unfavorable. The idea of his being respectable enough for them to be forced to a consent, drove her almost wild. Was this, then, to be the end of all her visions for her beautiful Pauline!

She could only trust to his being a scamp as her only hope of escape.

[Conclusion in our next.

THE SAILOR-LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. BY R. H. BACON.

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