“I know I have no right to talk so to you, Laurie, and if you weren’t the sweetest-tempered fellow in the world, you’d be very angry with me.  But we are all so fond and proud of you, I couldn’t bear to think they should be disappointed in you at home as I have been, though, perhaps they would understand the change better than I do.”

“I think they would,” came from under the hat, in a grim tone, quite as touching as a broken one.

“They ought to have told me, and not let me go blundering and scolding, when I should have been more kind and patient than ever.  I never did like that Miss Randal and now I hate her!” said artful Amy, wishing to be sure of her facts this time.

“Hang Miss Randal!” and Laurie knocked the hat off his face with a look that left no doubt of his sentiments toward that young lady.

“I beg pardon, I thought . . .” and there she paused diplomatically.

“No, you didn’t, you knew perfectly well I never cared for anyone but Jo,” Laurie said that in his old, impetuous tone, and turned his face away as he spoke.

“I did think so, but as they never said anything about it, and you came away, I supposed I was mistaken.  And Jo wouldn’t be kind to you?  Why, I was sure she loved you dearly.”

“She was kind, but not in the right way, and it’s lucky for her she didn’t love me, if I’m the good-for-nothing fellow you think me.  It’s her fault though, and you may tell her so.”

The hard, bitter look came back again as he said that, and it troubled Amy, for she did not know what balm to apply.

“I was wrong, I didn’t know.  I’m very sorry I was so cross, but I can’t help wishing you’d bear it better, Teddy, dear.”

“Don’t, that’s her name for me!” and Laurie put up his hand with a quick gesture to stop the words spoken in Jo’s half-kind, half-reproachful tone.  “Wait till you’ve tried it yourself,” he added in a low voice, as he pulled up the grass by the handful.

“I’d take it manfully, and be respected if I couldn’t be loved,” said Amy, with the decision of one who knew nothing about it.

Now, Laurie flattered himself that he had borne it remarkably well, making no moan, asking no sympathy, and taking his trouble away to live it down alone.  Amy’s lecture put the matter in a new light, and for the first time it did look weak and selfish to lose heart at the first failure, and shut himself up in moody indifference.  He felt as if suddenly shaken out of a pensive dream and found it impossible to go to sleep again.  Presently he sat up and asked slowly, “Do you think Jo would despise me as you do?”

“Yes, if she saw you now.  She hates lazy people.  Why don’t you do something splendid, and make her love you?”

“I did my best, but it was no use.”

“Graduating well, you mean?  That was no more than you ought to have done, for your grandfather’s sake.  It would have been shameful to fail after spending so much time and money, when everyone knew that you could do well.”