Chapter 14
The house was full of genuine happiness, when Mrs. March returned. Meg’s tender hope was realized; for when Beth woke from that long, healing sleep, the first object on which her eyes fell were the little rose and mother’s face.
That evening, while Meg was writing to her father, to report her mother safe arrival, Jo slipped upstairs into Beth’s room and finding her mother in her usual place, stood a minute twisting her fingers in her hair, with a worried gesture.
“What is it deary?” asked Mrs. March.
“I want to tell you something, mother.”
“About Meg?”
“How quick you guessed! Yes, it’s about her; and, though it’s a little thing, it fidgets me.”
“Beth is asleep; speak low, and tell me all about it. That Moffat hasn’t been here, I hope?” asked Mrs. March, rather sharply.
“No; I should have shut the door in his face if he had, said Jo setting herself on the floor at her mother’s feet. “Last summer Meg left a pair of gloves over at the Laurence’s and only one was returned. We forgot all about it till Teddy told me that Mrs. Brooke had it. He kept it in his waistcoat pocket, and once it fell out, and Teddy joked him about it, and Mr. Brooke owned that he liked Meg, but didn’t dare say so, she was young and her so poor. Now, isn’t it a dreadful state of things?”
“Do you think Meg cares for him?” asked Mrs. March with an anxious look.
“Mercy me! I don’t know anything about love and such nonsense!” cried Jo, with a funny mixture of interest and contempt. “In novels the girls show it by starting and blushing, fainting away, growing thin, and acting like fools. Now Meg doesn’t do anything of the sort; she eats and drinks, and sleeps, like a sensible creature; she looks straight in my face when I talk about that man, and only blushes a little bit when Teddy jokes about lovers.”
“Then you fancy that Meg is not interested in John?”
“Who?” cried Jo, staring.
“Mr. Brooke; I call him ‘John’ now; we fell into the way of doing so at the hospital.”
“Oh, dear! I know you’ll take his part; he’s been so good to father, and you won’t send him away, but let Meg marry him. Mean thing! to go petting pa and trucking to you, just to wheedle you into liking him.”
“My dear, don’t get angry about this. John went with me at Mr. Laurence’s request, and was so devoted to poor father that we couldn’t help getting fond of him. He was perfectly honourable about Meg, for he told us he loved her, but would earn a comfortable home before he asked her to marry him. He only wanted our leave to love her and work for her. He is a truly excellent young man, and we could not refuse to listen to him; but I will not consent to Meg’s engaging herself so young.”
Jo leaned her chin on her knees in a disconsolate attitude and shook her fist at the reprehensible John. Mrs. March sighed, and Jo looked up with an air of relief.
“You don’t like it mother? I’m glad of it; let’s send him about his business, and not tell Meg a word of it, but all be jolly together.”
“I did wrong to sigh, Jo. It is natural and right you should all go to homes of your own in time; but I do want to keep my girls as long as I can, and I am sorry that this happened so soon, for Meg is only seventeen. Your father and I have agreed that she shall not bind herself, nor be married before twenty. If she and John love each other; they can wait, and test the love by doing so.”
“Hadn’t you rather have her marry a rich man?” asked Jo.
“Money is a good and useful thing, Jo, and I hope my girls will never feel the need of it too bitterly, nor be tempted by too much. I am content to see Meg begin humbly, for she will be rich in the possession of a good man’s heart, and that is better than a fortune.”
“I understand mother; but I’m disappointed about Meg, for I’d planned to have her marry Laurie by-and-by, and sit in the lap of luxury all her days. Wouldn’t it be nice?” asked Jo, looking up with a brighter face.
“He is younger than she, you know,” began Mrs. March, but Jo broke in—
“Oh, that doesn’t matter; he’s old for his age, and tall. Then he’s rich and generous, and good and love us all.”
“I’m afraid Laurie is hardly grown-up enough for Meg, and altogether too much of a weather-cock, just now, for anyone to depend on. Don’t make plans, Jo.”
The kiss her mother gave her was very tender one, and, as she went away. Mrs. March said, with mixture of satisfaction and regret, “She does not love John, yet, but will soon learn to.”
