alive to the truth as it was?

Mrs. Grey feared so; but she could not ascertain. Pauline was
affectionate and tender, but not frank with her mother. Mrs. Grey,
like most mothers, who, to tell the truth, are not very judicious on
this point, would have led Pauline to talk of her husband; but here,
she knew not how, Pauline baffled her. She always spoke, and spoke
cheerfully and respectfully, of Mr. Wentworth, but in such a general
manner, that Mrs. Grey could come to no satisfactory conclusion either
way.

The truth was that though Pauline was very young, her character was
developing fast. Her heart and her mind were now speaking to her
trumpet-tongued--and their voice was appalling.

Her husband was daily revealing himself in his true character to her;
and the idol of her imagination was fast coming forth as an idol of
clay. But though Pauline was willful, she had other and great and
noble qualities. An instinct told her at once that no complaint of her
husband must pass her lips. Pride whispered that she had chosen her
own lot, and must bear it, and love still murmured, "Hope on--all is
not yet lost." But she grew pale and thin, and though she was
animated, and talked, perhaps, more than ever, Mrs. Grey imagined, for
she could not tell to a certainty, that her animation was forced, and
her conversation nervous.

Mr. Wentworth seemed soon to weary of the calm quiet of the domestic
circle, for of an evening he was beginning to take his hat and go to
the club, staying at first but for an hour or so, and gradually later
and later.

"I am not going up stairs yet, mamma," said Pauline, "I will sit up
for Mr. Wentworth."

"Robert will let him in, Pauline," replied Mrs. Grey, anxiously. "You
are looking pale, my child--you had better go up."

"Very well," answered Pauline, quietly; and her mother satisfied,
retired to her own room, supposing Pauline had done the same. But
Pauline had let the man sit up for her husband the night before; and
she had heard her mother, as she happened to be passing in the hall
when Mrs. Grey did not see her, finding fault with him for being late
in the morning; to which the servant answered, in extenuation, that he
had been up so late for Mr. Wentworth that he had over-slept himself.

"How late was it, Robert?" asked Mrs. Grey, in a low voice.

"Near two, ma'am," replied the man.

"Near two!" repeated Mrs. Grey, as if to herself--and a heavy sigh
told Pauline better than any comments