278 Laurie went by in the afternoon, and, seeing Meg at the window, seemed suddenly possessed6 with a melodramatic fit, for he fell down upon one knee in the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped his hands imploringly7, as if begging some boon8; and when Meg told him to behave himself and go away, he wrung9 imaginary tears out of his handkerchief, and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair.
"What does the goose mean?" said Meg, laughing, and trying to look unconscious.
"He's showing you how your John will go on by and by. Touching10, isn't it?" answered Jo scornfully.
"Don't say my John, it isn't proper or true;" but Meg's voice lingered over the words as if they sounded pleasant to her. "Please don't plague me, Jo; I've told you I don't care much about him, and there isn't to be anything said, but we are all to be friendly, and go on as before."
"We can't, for something has been said, and Laurie's mischief11 has spoilt you for me. I see it, and so does mother; you are not like your old self a bit, and seem ever so far away from me. I don't mean to plague you, and will bear it like a man, but I do wish it was all settled. I hate to wait; so if you mean ever to do it, make haste and have it over quickly," said Jo pettishly12.
"I can't say or do anything till he speaks, and he won't, because father said I was too young," began Meg, bending over her work, with a queer little smile, which suggested that she did not quite agree with her father on that point.
"If he did speak, you wouldn't know what to say, but would cry or blush, or let him have his own way, instead of giving a good, decided13, No."
"I'm not so silly and weak as you think. I know just what I should say, for I've planned it all, so I needn't be taken unawares; there's no knowing what may happen, and I wished to be prepared."
Jo couldn't help smiling at the important air which Meg had unconsciously assumed, and which was as becoming as the pretty color varying in her cheeks.
"Would you mind telling me what you'd say?" asked Jo more respectfully.
279 "Not at all; you are sixteen now, quite old enough to be my confidant, and my experience will be useful to you by and by, perhaps, in your own affairs of this sort."
"Don't mean to have any; it's fun to watch other people philander14, but I should feel like a fool doing it myself," said Jo, looking alarmed at the thought.
"I think not, if you liked any one very much, and he liked you." Meg spoke15 as if to herself, and glanced out at the lane, where she had often seen lovers walking together in the summer twilight16.
"I thought you were going to tell your speech to that man," said Jo, rudely shortening her sister's little reverie.
"Oh, I should merely say, quite calmly and decidedly, 'Thank you, Mr. Brooke, you are very kind, but I agree with father that I am too young to enter into any engagement at present; so please say no more, but let us be friends as we were.'"
"Hum! that's stiff and cool enough. I don't believe you'll ever say it, and I know he won't be satisfied if you do. If he goes on like the rejected lovers in books, you'll give in, rather than hurt his feelings."
"No, I won't! I shall tell him I've made up my mind, and shall walk out of the room with dignity."
Meg rose as she spoke, and was just going to rehearse the dignified17 exit, when a step in the hall made her fly into her seat, and begin to sew as if her life depended on finishing that particular seam in a given time. Jo smothered18 a laugh at the sudden change, and, when some one gave a modest tap, opened the door with a grim aspect, which was anything but hospitable19.
"Good afternoon. I came to get my umbrella,—that is, to see how your father finds himself to-day," said Mr. Brooke, getting a trifle confused as his eye went from one tell-tale face to the other.
"It's very well, he's in the rack, I'll get him, and tell it you are here," and having jumbled20 her father and the umbrella well together in her reply, Jo slipped out of the room to give Meg a chance to make her speech and air her dignity. But the instant she vanished, Meg began to sidle towards the door, murmuring,—
"Mother will like to see you. Pray sit down, I'll call her."
280 "Don't go; are you afraid of me, Margaret?" and Mr. Brooke looked so hurt that Meg thought she must have done something very rude. She blushed up to the little curls on her forehead, for he had never called her Margaret before, and she was surprised to find how natural and sweet it seemed to hear him say it. Anxious to appear friendly and at her ease, she put out her hand with a confiding21 gesture, and said gratefully,—
"How can I be afraid when you have been so kind to father? I only wish I could thank you for it."
Shall I tell you how?
"Shall I tell you how?" asked Mr. Brooke, holding the small hand fast in both his own, and looking down at Meg with so much love in 281 the brown eyes, that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to run away and to stop and listen.
"Oh no, please don't—I'd rather not," she said, trying to withdraw her hand, and looking frightened in spite of her denial.
"I won't trouble you, I only want to know if you care for me a little, Meg. I love you so much, dear," added Mr. Brooke tenderly.
This was the moment for the calm, proper speech, but Meg didn't make it; she forgot every word of it, hung her head, and answered, "I don't know," so softly, that John had to stoop down to catch the foolish little reply.
He seemed to think it was worth the trouble, for he smiled to himself as if quite satisfied, pressed the plump hand gratefully, and said, in his most persuasive23 tone, "Will you try and find out? I want to know so much; for I can't go to work with any heart until I learn whether I am to have my reward in the end or not."
"I'll wait; and in the meantime, you could be learning to like me. Would it be a very hard lesson, dear?"
"Not if I chose to learn it, but—"
"Please choose to learn, Meg. I love to teach, and this is easier than German," broke in John, getting possession of the other hand, so that she had no way of hiding her face, as he bent25 to look into it.
His tone was properly beseeching26; but, stealing a shy look at him, Meg saw that his eyes were merry as well as tender, and that he wore the satisfied smile of one who had no doubt of his success. This nettled27 her; Annie Moffat's foolish lessons in coquetry came into her mind, and the love of power, which sleeps in the bosoms28 of the best of little women, woke up all of a sudden and took possession of her. She felt excited and strange, and, not knowing what else to do, followed a capricious impulse, and, withdrawing her hands, said petulantly29, "I don't choose. Please go away and let me be!"
Poor Mr. Brooke looked as if his lovely castle in the air was tumbling about his ears, for he had never seen Meg in such a mood before, and it rather bewildered him.
"Do you really mean that?" he asked anxiously, following her as she walked away.
282 "Yes, I do; I don't want to be worried about such things. Father says I needn't; it's too soon and I'd rather not."
"Mayn't I hope you'll change your mind by and by? I'll wait, and say nothing till you have had more time. Don't play with me, Meg. I didn't think that of you."
"Don't think of me at all. I'd rather you wouldn't," said Meg, taking a naughty satisfaction in trying her lover's patience and her own power.
He was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novel heroes whom she admired; but he neither slapped his forehead nor tramped about the room, as they did; he just stood looking at her so wistfully, so tenderly, that she found her heart relenting in spite of her. What would have happened next I cannot say, if Aunt March had not come hobbling in at this interesting minute.
The old lady couldn't resist her longing30 to see her nephew; for she had met Laurie as she took her airing, and, hearing of Mr. March's arrival, drove straight out to see him. The family were all busy in the back part of the house, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping to surprise them. She did surprise two of them so much that Meg started as if she had seen a ghost, and Mr. Brooke vanished into the study.
283
Bless me, what's all this?
"Bless me, what's all this?" cried the old lady, with a rap of her cane31, as she glanced from the pale young gentleman to the scarlet32 young lady.
"It's father's friend. I'm so surprised to see you!" stammered33 Meg, feeling that she was in for a lecture now.
"That's evident," returned Aunt March, sitting down. "But what is father's friend saying to make you look like a peony? There's mischief going on, and I insist upon knowing what it is," with another rap.
"We were merely talking. Mr. Brooke came for his umbrella," began Meg, wishing that Mr. Brooke and the umbrella were safely out of the house.
"Brooke? That boy's tutor? Ah! I understand now. I know all about it. Jo blundered into a wrong message in one of your father's letters, and I made her tell me. You haven't gone and accepted him, child?" cried Aunt March, looking scandalized.
"Not yet. I've something to say to you, and I must free my mind at once. Tell me, do you mean to marry this Cook? If you do, not one penny of my money ever goes to you. Remember that, and be a sensible girl," said the old lady impressively.
Now Aunt March possessed in perfection the art of rousing the spirit of opposition35 in the gentlest people, and enjoyed doing it. The best of us have a spice of perversity36 in us, especially when we are young and in love. If Aunt March had begged Meg to accept John Brooke, she would probably have declared she couldn't think of it; but as she was peremptorily37 ordered not to like him, she immediately made up her mind that she would. Inclination38 as well as perversity made the decision easy, and, being already much excited, Meg opposed the old lady with unusual spirit.
"I shall marry whom I please, Aunt March, and you can leave your money to any one you like," she said, nodding her head with a resolute39 air.
"Highty tighty! Is that the way you take my advice, miss? You'll be sorry for it, by and by, when you've tried love in a cottage, and found it a failure."
284 "It can't be a worse one than some people find in big houses," retorted Meg.
Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she did not know her in this new mood. Meg hardly knew herself, she felt so brave and independent,—so glad to defend John, and assert her right to love him, if she liked. Aunt March saw that she had begun wrong, and, after a little pause, made a fresh start, saying, as mildly as she could, "Now, Meg, my dear, be reasonable, and take my advice. I mean it kindly40, and don't want you to spoil your whole life by making a mistake at the beginning. You ought to marry well, and help your family; it's your duty to make a rich match, and it ought to be impressed upon you."
"Father and mother don't think so; they like John, though he is poor."
"Your parents, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than two babies."
Aunt March took no notice, but went on with her lecture. "This Rook is poor, and hasn't got any rich relations, has he?"
"No; but he has many warm friends."
"You can't live on friends; try it, and see how cool they'll grow. He hasn't any business, has he?"
"Not yet; Mr. Laurence is going to help him."
"That won't last long. James Laurence is a crotchety old fellow, and not to be depended on. So you intend to marry a man without money, position, or business, and go on working harder than you do now, when you might be comfortable all your days by minding me and doing better? I thought you had more sense, Meg."
"I couldn't do better if I waited half my life! John is good and wise; he's got heaps of talent; he's willing to work, and sure to get on, he's so energetic and brave. Every one likes and respects him, and I'm proud to think he cares for me, though I'm so poor and young and silly," said Meg, looking prettier than ever in her earnestness.
285 "Aunt March, how dare you say such a thing? John is above such meanness, and I won't listen to you a minute if you talk so," cried Meg indignantly, forgetting everything but the injustice43 of the old lady's suspicions. "My John wouldn't marry for money, anymore than I would. We are willing to work, and we mean to wait. I'm not afraid of being poor, for I've been happy so far, and I know I shall be with him, because he loves me, and I—"
Meg stopped there, remembering all of a sudden that she hadn't made up her mind; that she had told "her John" to go away, and that he might be overhearing her inconsistent remarks.
Aunt March was very angry, for she had set her heart on having her pretty niece make a fine match, and something in the girl's happy young face made the lonely old woman feel both sad and sour.
"Well, I wash my hands of the whole affair! You are a wilful44 child, and you've lost more than you know by this piece of folly45. No, I won't stop; I'm disappointed in you, and haven't spirits to see your father now. Don't expect anything from me when you are married; your Mr. Book's friends must take care of you. I'm done with you forever."
And, slamming the door in Meg's face, Aunt March drove off in high dudgeon. She seemed to take all the girl's courage with her; for, when left alone, Meg stood a moment, undecided whether to laugh or cry. Before she could make up her mind, she was taken possession of by Mr. Brooke, who said, all in one breath, "I couldn't help hearing, Meg. Thank you for defending me, and Aunt March for proving that you do care for me a little bit."
"I didn't know how much, till she abused you," began Meg.
"And I needn't go away, but may stay and be happy, may I, dear?"
Here was another fine chance to make the crushing speech and the stately exit, but Meg never thought of doing either, and disgraced herself forever in Jo's eyes by meekly46 whispering, "Yes, John," and hiding her face on Mr. Brooke's waistcoat.
Fifteen minutes after Aunt March's departure, Jo came softly down stairs, paused an instant at the parlor47 door, and, hearing no sound within, nodded and smiled, with a satisfied expression, saying to herself, 286 "She has sent him away as we planned, and that affair is settled. I'll go and hear the fun, and have a good laugh over it."
But poor Jo never got her laugh, for she was transfixed upon the threshold by a spectacle which held her there, staring with her mouth nearly as wide open as her eyes. Going in to exult48 over a fallen enemy, and to praise a strong-minded sister for the banishment49 of an objectionable lover, it certainly was a shock to behold50 the aforesaid enemy serenely51 sitting on the sofa, with the strong-minded sister enthroned upon his knee, and wearing an expression of the most abject52 submission53. Jo gave a sort of gasp54, as if a cold shower-bath had suddenly fallen upon her,—for such an unexpected turning of the tables actually took her breath away. At the odd sound, the lovers turned and saw her. Meg jumped up, looking both proud and shy; but "that man," as Jo called him, actually laughed, and said coolly, as he kissed the astonished new-comer, "Sister Jo, congratulate us!"
That was adding insult to injury,—it was altogether too much,—and, making some wild demonstration55 with her hands, Jo vanished without a word. Rushing upstairs, she startled the invalids56 by exclaiming tragically57, as she burst into the room, "Oh, do somebody go down quick; John Brooke is acting58 dreadfully, and Meg likes it!"
Mr. and Mrs. March left the room with speed; and, casting herself upon the bed, Jo cried and scolded tempestuously59 as she told the awful news to Beth and Amy. The little girls, however, considered it a most agreeable and interesting event, and Jo got little comfort from them; so she went up to her refuge in the garret, and confided60 her troubles to the rats.
Nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that afternoon; but a great deal of talking was done, and quiet Mr. Brooke astonished his friends by the eloquence61 and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, told his plans, and persuaded them to arrange everything just as he wanted it.
The tea-bell rang before he had finished describing the paradise which he meant to earn for Meg, and he proudly took her in to supper, both looking so happy that Jo hadn't the heart to be jealous or dismal62. Amy was very much impressed by John's devotion and Meg's dignity. Beth beamed at them from a distance, while Mr. and Mrs. March surveyed 287 the young couple with such tender satisfaction that it was perfectly63 evident Aunt March was right in calling them as "unworldly as a pair of babies." No one ate much, but every one looked very happy, and the old room seemed to brighten up amazingly when the first romance of the family began there.
"You can't say nothing pleasant ever happens now, can you, Meg?" said Amy, trying to decide how she would group the lovers in the sketch64 she was planning to take.
"No, I'm sure I can't. How much has happened since I said that! It seems a year ago," answered Meg, who was in a blissful dream, lifted far above such common things as bread and butter.
"The joys come close upon the sorrows this time, and I rather think the changes have begun," said Mrs. March. "In most families there comes, now and then, a year full of events; this has been such an one, but it ends well, after all."
"Hope the next will end better," muttered Jo, who found it very hard to see Meg absorbed in a stranger before her face; for Jo loved a few persons very dearly, and dreaded65 to have their affection lost or lessened66 in any way.
"I hope the third year from this will end better; I mean it shall, if I live to work out my plans," said Mr. Brooke, smiling at Meg, as if everything had become possible to him now.
"Doesn't it seem very long to wait?" asked Amy, who was in a hurry for the wedding.
"I've got so much to learn before I shall be ready, it seems a short time to me," answered Meg, with a sweet gravity in her face, never seen there before.
"You have only to wait; I am to do the work," said John, beginning his labors67 by picking up Meg's napkin, with an expression which caused Jo to shake her head, and then say to herself, with an air of relief, as the front door banged, "Here comes Laurie. Now we shall have a little sensible conversation."
For Mrs. John Brooke
But Jo was mistaken; for Laurie came prancing68 in, overflowing69 with spirits, bearing a great bridal-looking bouquet70 for "Mrs. John Brooke," and evidently laboring71 under the delusion72 that the whole affair had been brought about by his excellent management.
288 "I knew Brooke would have it all his own way, he always does; for when he makes up his mind to accomplish anything, it's done, though the sky falls," said Laurie, when he had presented his offering and his congratulations.
"Much obliged for that recommendation. I take it as a good omen22 for the future, and invite you to my wedding on the spot," answered Mr. Brooke, who felt at peace with all mankind, even his mischievous73 pupil.
"I'll come if I'm at the ends of the earth; for the sight of Jo's face alone, on that occasion, would be worth a long journey. You don't look festive74, ma'am; what's the matter?" asked Laurie, following her into a corner of the parlor, whither all had adjourned75 to greet Mr. Laurence.
"I don't approve of the match, but I've made up my mind to bear it, and shall not say a word against it," said Jo solemnly. "You can't know how hard it is for me to give up Meg," she continued, with a little quiver in her voice.
"You don't give her up. You only go halves," said Laurie consolingly.
"It never can be the same again. I've lost my dearest friend," sighed Jo.
"You've got me, anyhow. I'm not good for much, I know; but 289 I'll stand by you, Jo, all the days of my life; upon my word I will!" and Laurie meant what he said.
"I know you will, and I'm ever so much obliged; you are always a great comfort to me, Teddy," returned Jo, gratefully shaking hands.
"Well, now, don't be dismal, there's a good fellow. It's all right, you see. Meg is happy; Brooke will fly round and get settled immediately; grandpa will attend to him, and it will be very jolly to see Meg in her own little house. We'll have capital times after she is gone, for I shall be through college before long, and then we'll go abroad, or some nice trip or other. Wouldn't that console you?"
"I rather think it would; but there's no knowing what may happen in three years," said Jo thoughtfully.
"That's true. Don't you wish you could take a look forward, and see where we shall all be then? I do," returned Laurie.
"I think not, for I might see something sad; and every one looks so happy now, I don't believe they could be much improved," and Jo's eyes went slowly round the room, brightening as they looked, for the prospect76 was a pleasant one.
Father and mother sat together, quietly re-living the first chapter of the romance which for them began some twenty years ago. Amy was drawing the lovers, who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the light of which touched their faces with a grace the little artist could not copy. Beth lay on her sofa, talking cheerily with her old friend, who held her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the power to lead him along the peaceful way she walked. Jo lounged in her favorite low seat, with the grave, quiet look which best became her; and Laurie, leaning on the back of her chair, his chin on a level with her curly head, smiled with his friendliest aspect, and nodded at her in the long glass which reflected them both.
So grouped, the curtain falls upon Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. Whether it ever rises again, depends upon the reception given to the first act of the domestic drama called "Little Women."
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1
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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peek
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| vi.偷看，窥视；n.偷偷的一看，一瞥 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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pettishly
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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philander
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| v.不真诚地恋爱，调戏 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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petulantly
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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38
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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exult
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| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
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banishment
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| n.放逐，驱逐 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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tempestuously
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| adv.剧烈地，暴风雨似地 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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