Mr. Grey was not a man who usually took much pleasure in society, but his grave face lighted up as with a glance of sunshine, when he caught a glimpse of his beautiful child, as the crowd opened from time to time on the dancers in the thronged rooms, where, night after night, he was now condemned to pass his evenings; and when he approached her to tell her that the carriage was waiting, and her mother had sent to summon her to her side, he could not restrain his smiles when the young men crowded round to remind Pauline, one of a waltz, another of a polka, and pleading with Mr. Grey for more engagements than she could have fulfilled if they had staid all night; and his paternal pride had its share of gratification in the homage that even his presence could scarcely restrain. Among the group of idlers ever hovering round Pauline, was one who scarcely left her side, a Mr. Wentworth, a young man, and rather good looking. He seemed mightily taken with Pauline, and she smiled her brightest when she turned to him--but that she did when any one spoke to her--for she was in such a gale of spirits, she smiled on all who crossed her path. "Who is that young gentleman dancing with your daughter, Mrs. Grey?" asked a lady. "I don't know any thing about him but his name, which is Wentworth," replied Mrs. Grey. "Mrs. Henderson introduced him to me at her own house, and I introduced him to Pauline. That's all I know about him." "Then I should say," replied the other, smiling, "that it was time you knew something more, for he has evidently lost his heart to your daughter." "Oh, I don't know that," replied Mrs. Grey, smiling in her turn, but carelessly, as if it was not a matter of much consequence if Pauline did break a few hearts more or less. "There's no doubt about his admiration," continued the lady; "so I warn you in time, Mrs. Grey."