The kiss her mother gave her was a very tender one,
and as she went away, Mrs. March said, with a mixture
of satisfaction and regret, “She does not love
John yet, but will soon learn to.”
LAURIE MAKES MISCHIEF, AND JO MAKES PEACE
Jo’s face was a study next day, for the secret
rather weighed upon her, and she found it hard not
to look mysterious and important. Meg observed
it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries,
for she had learned that the best way to manage Jo
was by the law of contraries, so she felt sure of
being told everything if she did not ask. She
was rather surprised, therefore, when the silence
remained unbroken, and Jo assumed a patronizing air,
which decidedly aggravated Meg, who in turn assumed
an air of dignified reserve and devoted herself to
her mother. This left Jo to her own devices,
for Mrs. March had taken her place as nurse, and bade
her rest, exercise, and amuse herself after her long
confinement. Amy being gone, Laurie was her only
refuge, and much as she enjoyed his society, she rather
dreaded him just then, for he was an incorrigible
tease, and she feared he would coax the secret from
her.
She was quite right, for the mischief-loving lad no
sooner suspected a mystery than he set himself to
find it out, and led Jo a trying life of it.
He wheedled, bribed, ridiculed, threatened, and scolded;
affected indifference, that he might surprise the
truth from her; declared he knew, then that he didn’t
care; and at last, by dint of perseverance, he satisfied
himself that it concerned Meg and Mr. Brooke.
Feeling indignant that he was not taken into his
tutor’s confidence, he set his wits to work
to devise some proper retaliation for the slight.
Meg meanwhile had apparently forgotten the matter
and was absorbed in preparations for her father’s
return, but all of a sudden a change seemed to come
over her, and, for a day or two, she was quite unlike
herself. She started when spoken to, blushed
when looked at, was very quiet, and sat over her sewing,
with a timid, troubled look on her face. To her
mother’s inquiries she answered that she was
quite well, and Jo’s she silenced by begging
to be let alone.
“She feels it in the air—love, I
mean—and she’s going very fast.
She’s got most of the symptoms—is
twittery and cross, doesn’t eat, lies awake,
and mopes in corners. I caught her singing that
song he gave her, and once she said ‘John’,
as you do, and then turned as red as a poppy.
Whatever shall we do?” said Jo, looking ready
for any measures, however violent.
“Nothing but wait. Let her alone, be kind
and patient, and Father’s coming will settle
everything,” replied her mother.
“Here’s a note to you, Meg, all sealed
up. How odd! Teddy never seals mine,”
said Jo next day, as she distributed the contents
of the little post office.
