"What is there, my child," said Mrs. Grey, "that he has not, or that you have not here, that you can have in your own house. Only say it, Pauline, and any thing, every thing either you or he wish, shall be done."
Pauline was affected to tears by her mother's tone and manner, and she said,
"Dearest mother, there is nothing that love and tenderness can do, that you and my father have not done. Do not think that I am insensible or ungrateful. Oh, no! never was your love so important to me as now—" she here checked herself. "But, mother, what I would say—what I think, is, that Mr. Wentworth, that no man can feel perfectly at ease in another's house; and that a young man, perhaps, hardly feels his responsibility as the head of a family, while living at home; that his respectability before the world—in short, I think, I feel, that it would be better for Mr. Wentworth if he were in his own house."
And beyond this last intimation Pauline could not be drawn, although Mrs. Grey did her best to pursue the theme and draw her out. She only said, "Well, mother, think it over, and talk to father about it."
And Mrs. Grey did talk to her husband, and found, to her surprise, that he agreed with Pauline.
"I believe she is right," he said. "Wentworth and ourselves cannot live much longer together. I believe it will be for our mutual happiness that we be partially separated."
"If I were only satisfied that she is satisfied," urged Mrs. Grey. "But Pauline is so reserved about her husband."
"And Pauline is right, my dear," replied Mr. Grey, with deep emotion. "I honor her for it. My poor child has drawn a sad lot, and nobly is she bearing it. We must aid her and comfort her as we can, Alice; and if she wills that we be deaf and blind, deaf and blind we must be. God bless her!" he added, fervently. "My angel daughter."
And so arrangements on the most liberal scale were made for Pauline's separate establishment; for, to tell the truth, it was rather Pauline's wish than her husband's. She thought that if they were alone, she could exert some influence over him, which now she was afraid of attempting lest it might bring exposure with it. Pauline had borne much, but not from fear. She had a brave, high spirit. She did not tremble before Wentworth; but both pride and love—yes, love even for him, and deep, surpassing love for her parents, led her to adopt her present course.
Poor child! she did not know she was only withdrawing herself from their protection.