"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. CHAPTER II. People may talk about young girls' heads being turned, but for my part, I think there are no heads so easily turned as old ones. Vanity, when it is fresh, like wine, is not as strong and intoxicating as when it grows old. Pauline enjoyed her triumphs like a girl, in all the effervescence of youthful spirits, thinking less of her beauty and more of her pleasure than her mother, who sat and followed her with her eyes, watching every movement, and absorbed almost to the exclusion of every other perception, in the surpassing loveliness of her daughter, and the admiration that flashed from every eye that turned upon her. And let not wise ones say that this was folly, and Mrs. Grey a weak woman for yielding to it, for it is human nature, which is too strong to be ruled by saws, be they ever so wise. The heart will spring to beauty, be it where it may, and no human being alive to poetry, can view God's fairest creation in its full perfection, and not feel a throb of pleasure. It is not wisdom, but an absence of ideality, of taste, of the highest of perceptions, the love of the beautiful, that can let any one look unmoved upon a young and beautiful woman. Who would not blush for themselves, and deny that they had walked through the halls of the Vatican without delight? And will the same person rave about the sculptured marble, and yet gaze coldly on the living, breathing model? No! and if it is high treason not to worship the one, it is false to human nature not to love the other; and the man, woman, or child, who affects to under-value beauty, only proclaims the want in their own mental constitution. To be without an eye for beauty, is as to be without an ear for music, to be wanting in the refinement of the higher and more delicate organization of our nature.