As I went upstairs after dinner, two of the young
men were settling their hats before the hall mirror,
and I heard one say low to the other, “Who’s
the new party?”
“Governess, or something of that sort.”
“What the deuce is she at our table for?”
“Friend of the old lady’s.”
“Handsome head, but no style.”
“Not a bit of it. Give us a light and
come on.”
I felt angry at first, and then I didn’t care,
for a governess is as good as a clerk, and I’ve
got sense, if I haven’t style, which is more
than some people have, judging from the remarks of
the elegant beings who clattered away, smoking like
bad chimneys. I hate ordinary people!
Yesterday was a quiet day spent in teaching, sewing,
and writing in my little room, which is very cozy,
with a light and fire. I picked up a few bits
of news and was introduced to the Professor.
It seems that Tina is the child of the Frenchwoman
who does the fine ironing in the laundry here.
The little thing has lost her heart to Mr. Bhaer,
and follows him about the house like a dog whenever
he is at home, which delights him, as he is very fond
of children, though a ‘bacheldore’.
Kitty and Minnie Kirke likewise regard him with affection,
and tell all sorts of stories about the plays he invents,
the presents he brings, and the splendid tales he
tells. The younger men quiz him, it seems, call
him Old Fritz, Lager Beer, Ursa Major, and make all
manner of jokes on his name. But he enjoys it
like a boy, Mrs. Kirke says, and takes it so good-naturedly
that they all like him in spite of his foreign ways.
The maiden lady is a Miss Norton, rich, cultivated,
and kind. She spoke to me at dinner today (for
I went to table again, it’s such fun to watch
people), and asked me to come and see her at her room.
She has fine books and pictures, knows interesting
persons, and seems friendly, so I shall make myself
agreeable, for I do want to get into good society,
only it isn’t the same sort that Amy likes.
I was in our parlor last evening when Mr. Bhaer came
in with some newspapers for Mrs. Kirke. She
wasn’t there, but Minnie, who is a little old
woman, introduced me very prettily. “This
is Mamma’s friend, Miss March.”
“Yes, and she’s jolly and we like her
lots,” added Kitty, who is an ‘enfant
terrible’.
We both bowed, and then we laughed, for the prim introduction
and the blunt addition were rather a comical contrast.
“Ah, yes, I hear these naughty ones go to vex
you, Mees Marsch. If so again, call at me and
I come,” he said, with a threatening frown that
delighted the little wretches.
I promised I would, and he departed, but it seems
as if I was doomed to see a good deal of him, for
today as I passed his door on my way out, by accident
I knocked against it with my umbrella. It flew
open, and there he stood in his dressing gown, with
a big blue sock on one hand and a darning needle in
the other. He didn’t seem at all ashamed
of it, for when I explained and hurried on, he waved
his hand, sock and all, saying in his loud, cheerful
way . . .
