Chapter 12

"Give her what she wants," said Mr. Grey impatiently. "How can you let the child cry so?"

"But, my dear," expostulated his wife, "I am afraid it will hurt her."

"Nonsense!" replied Mr. Grey, "it hurts her more to scream so. Here, my princess royal," he continued, "take that, and keep quiet, do"--but Pauline's spirit was not to be so easily appeased as the impatient father imagined, for imperiously spurning with her tiny foot the proffered gift, she screamed more indignantly than when it had first been refused.

"Hey day, Pauline," said Mr. Grey angrily.

"My darling," interrupted Mrs. Grey, hastily addressing the child, "let mamma peel it and put some sugar on it. Come Pauline," she said, as she stooped to pick up the orange.

Pauline's cries subsided for a moment, as apparently taking the matter in consideration, or else, perhaps only holding her breath for a fresh burst, while the tears hung in heavy drops on her long black lashes, and her large eyes still sparkled with excitement.

"Let mamma peel it nicely," continued Mrs. Grey. "Come, and we'll go and get some sugar."

"Yes, yes, do," said Mr. Grey impatiently. "Now go, Pauline, with your mother;" to which the little lady consented, and, tears still upon her blooming cheeks, she withdrew with her mother, leaving Mr. Grey to the quiet possession of the parlor and tranquil enjoyment of his book.

And thus it was generally with Pauline. What she was refused at first, she was coaxed to take at last, and between the indulgence of her mother and the impatience of her father, she seldom or never failed to have what she wanted.

A passionate determination to have her own way marked her character perhaps rather more strongly than that of most spoiled children, for nature had endowed her with a strong will, which education had fostered, as it almost seemed, with sedulous care. For the fact was Mrs. Grey dreaded a contest with Pauline; she screamed so, and Mr. Grey got so angry, sometimes with her, and sometimes with the child, and altogether it was such a time, that she soon begun to think it was better not to thwart Pauline, which certainly was true; for every contest ended in a fresh victory on the part of Pauline, and the utter discomfiture of Mrs. Grey, and the vexation of Mr. Grey, who, more vexed at the contest than the defeat, usually said, "Pshaw! you don't know how to manage that child." Thus Pauline, an only child, beautiful, gifted and willful, idolized by both parents, soon ruled the household.

"I'll not go to that school any more," said Pauline indignantly, as she tossed her books down, the second day of her first school experience.

"Why not, my love?" asked her mother anxiously.

"I don't like that Miss Cutter," said Pauline, her large black eyes dilating as she spoke, and flashing with excitement.

"You don't like Miss Cutter," repeated Mrs. Grey. "Why don't you like Miss Cutter, Pauline?"

"She put me on a high bench and said 'chut' to me," replied Pauline. "Nobody shall say 'chut' to me, and I wont go there again."

"You'll go there if your mother says so, Pauline," said her father. But Pauline knew better than that, and so did Mr. Grey for that matter; but Mrs. Grey said, "well, we'll see about it, Pauline. Now go and be dressed for dinner."

"I wont go again," said Pauline with determination, as she left the room.

"I'm sorry," said Mrs. Grey anxiously, as the child left the room, "that Pauline has taken a dislike to Miss Cutter. It was injudicious in her to commence her school discipline so rigorously at once."

"Just like those people," said Mr. Grey, testily; "they have no judgment--dressed in a little brief authority they make the most of it."

"Pauline is such a peculiar child," continued Mrs. Grey, (for all people think their children "peculiar," unless they have half a dozen of them, and then they know better). "Pauline is such a peculiar child that I dislike driving her against her feelings. I am very sorry for this," she added, looking much perplexed and embarrassed. "I don't know what to do."

Fortunately Pauline had a little cold the next day, or Mrs. Grey imagined she had, and so the question of school was dodged for a day or two, during which, however, Pauline continued firm in her determination of not returning.

By the time she had recovered past all possibility of thinking she was not quite as well as usual, Mrs. Grey had reasoned herself into thinking, and talked Mr. Grey into believing, that there was so much that was injurious in the present mode of school education, that upon the whole she would prefer keeping Pauline at home. A governess, under her own eye, would do her greater justice and bring her on faster; and, above all, she would escape the contamination of indiscriminate contact with children of whose tempers and characters Mrs. Grey knew nothing.

She need not have said half as much to convince Mr. Grey, for he was tired out with the subject, and ready to yield before she was one third through; but she was talking as much to satisfy herself that what she did was the result of mature reflection, and not to gratify, or rather pacify Pauline, as to convince Mr. Grey. Whether she was able to attain this point is somewhat doubtful, although the capacity people have for self deception is amazing. And to what perfection Mrs. Grey may have reached in the happy art, we are not able exactly to say.

But the governess was engaged, (a day governess, for neither Mr. Grey nor Pauline could have borne the constant presence of even so necessary an evil,) and under her tuition Pauline made rapid progress in her studies. Miss Burton soon finding that the moral education of her little pupil was quite beyond her reach, Mrs. Grey generally evading any disputed point between them, and gently waiving what authority should have settled, very wisely confined herself to the task Mrs. Grey set before her, which was to give Pauline as much instruction and as little contradiction as could be combined.

But spite of some drawbacks Pauline made wonderful progress. She was, in fact, a child of uncommon abilities, and every thing she applied herself to, she mastered almost at once. Her understanding rapidly developed, and springing into girlhood while others are yet looked upon almost as children, she was a daughter any parents might justly be proud of. She was singularly beautiful, too, and no eye could rest upon her girlish form and speaking face, her brilliant eye and glowing cheek, other than with delight. That Mr. and Mrs. Grey watched her with looks of something hardly short of adoration, is scarce to be wondered at. She was so animated, so joyous, so radiant with youth, health and beauty. There seemed such affluence of all life's best gifts, which she scattered so lavishly around her, that the very air seemed to grow brighter from her presence, and no one who came within the sphere of her influence, could escape the spell of her joyous power.

To say that as her mind and person developed, she quite outgrew the faults of her childhood, would be rather hazardous. 'T is true, she no longer stamped her little foot and burst into passionate tears, as when we first made her acquaintance, but she bent her pretty dark brows, and said, "I must," in a tone that Mrs. Grey knew meant, "I will."

But then who thought of disputing her wishes? Were they not the main-spring of the whole concern? What else did father or mother live for? Were not her wishes their wishes, her pleasures their pleasures? Was not she their idol--their all?

If she would only wrap up warmer, and put thicker shoes on those little feet, Mrs. Grey would have asked nothing more. But she was slight, and coughed sometimes, and then Mr. Grey said she should not have _allowed_ Pauline to go out in those thin shoes, and charged her not to permit it another time--but never interfered himself--thus throwing all the responsibility, or rather impossibility, of making Pauline mind, upon his wife, who indeed always got all Pauline's scoldings; for though Mr. Grey might find fault when Pauline was absent, one bright smile and brilliant glance from Pauline present, was sure to dispel his displeasure.

So Pauline had now reached her seventeenth year, beautiful, gifted, high-spirited and generous-hearted. And if willful--why, even that seemed to give a _prononcé_ shade to her character, that rather heightened the brilliancy of its tone.

"You are going to Cecelia Howard's wedding I suppose, Mrs. Grey," said Mrs. Graham.

"Of course. She is a niece of my husband's, you know."

"Yes. And Pauline is to be bridemaid, I understand," continued the lady.

"Well--I don't know about that," replied Mrs. Grey, hesitatingly.

"But _I_ do," said Pauline in her pretty willful way. "I told Cecelia that she might depend on me."

Mrs. Grey looked at her daughter without speaking, though she could not but smile at her animated face, while Mrs. Graham said, "Oh yes, why not, Mrs. Grey?"

"Pauline is rather young," continued Mrs. Grey, "for such things."

"True," replied the other, "if it were not in the connection. But family gayety is quite different."

"Of course," said Mrs. Grey, "if it were not for that, I should not think of it."

"Well, but I am going, mamma," said Pauline, "So you may make up your mind to that." And Mrs. Grey felt that she might as well at once. So after a little more talk about it, and Mr. Grey's saying, "Why, certainly, I see no objection to it--and as your cousin wishes it, Pauline--if your mother is willing, I am," it was settled.

How beautiful Pauline looked when she came down stairs and presented herself before her delighted father, dressed for the wedding. It was the first time he had ever seen her in full dress; her white neck and round arms uncovered, her rich dark hair looking darker and more satinny for the wreath of pale, soft, delicate roses that bound it--even the little foot seeming more fairy-like in the small white satin slipper that inclosed it. If her father was accustomed to think her peerless in the plain, high-necked merino dress in which he usually saw her, what did he think of her now, when full dressed, or rather undressed, as she stood before him, brilliant in the glow of excitement, and fairer and fresher than even the flowers she wore?

He looked at her speechless, and when she said,

"Father, how do you like me?" could only kiss her fair forehead in silence.

There was a reception after the wedding, and the beauty of the young bridemaid excited no small degree of sensation; for Pauline, having been brought up at home, was little known by the young people of her own age, and so took society rather by surprise.

"Mrs. Grey," said Mrs. Livingston, "the bride has named Thursday evening for me. You will do me the favor, therefore, I hope, of considering yourself and your daughter engaged for that evening."

"Not Pauline, my dear madam," said Mrs. Grey. "She does not go out this winter. She is so young that I hesitated much even letting her act as bridemaid this evening."

"Oh, my dear Mrs. Grey," said Mrs. Livingston, much disappointed, "pray reverse your decision--surely for the bridal parties at least. I shall be so disappointed, for," with a smile, "I quite counted on the presence of your beautiful daughter for the brilliancy of my party;" and Pauline approaching just then, she said, "Pray, Miss Pauline, join your petitions to mine--I do so want you to come to my party for the bride."

"Why, mamma, of course," said Pauline. "The bridemaids must attend the bride to the parties given for her--Cecelia says so."

"But, my love," said her mother, "you know I told Cecelia when I consented to your being bridemaid, that you were not going out."

"Not generally--no; but just to the bridal parties, mamma. Oh, I must"--and there was the little ominous bend of the brows at the words "I must," when Mr. Grey coming up, her mother, glad in her turn to throw the responsibility on him, said,

"Well, ask your father; see what he says."

"What is it, Pauline?" said Mr. Grey, smiling assent before she had spoken.

"May I not, papa, attend the bridal parties with the rest of the bridemaids," she said, half pouting. "Cecelia says it will spoil the bridal cotillion if I am absent; and then--oh, papa, I must," she continued, in a tone of such earnest entreaty, entreaty that seemed to admit of no refusal, that he smiled as he said,

"Well, if you _must_, I suppose you must."

"Then I may, papa!" she exclaimed, her dark eyes dilating in their peculiar way when any thing particularly delighted or excited her. "Now, mamma!" turning triumphantly to her mother, "papa says I may. Yes, Mrs. Livingston, mamma _will_ come, and I too--hey, mamma!" and Mrs. Grey smiled her assent--and she and Pauline were in for the rest of the wedding gayeties.

_Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute._ Party followed party, and Mrs. Grey forgot to ask, or Pauline to care, whether they were bridal parties or not, for Pauline was fairly launched. And what a sensation she excited--so young--so brilliant--so beautiful. Mr. Grey, too, a man of handsome fortune, and Pauline an only daughter. There's a sort of charm in that, too, to young men's imaginations. It seems to make a girl more like a rare exotic, something of which there are few of the kind. And Pauline was a belle of the most decided stamp; and Mr. and Mrs. Grey's heads were more turned than was hers by the admiration she excited.