"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.