“I’ll be a double-distilled saint.”
“I can’t bear saints: just be a simple, honest, respectable boy, and we’ll never desert you. I don’t know what I should do if you acted like Mr. King’s son; he had plenty of money, but didn’t know how to spend it, and got tipsy and gambled, and ran away, and forged his father’s name, I believe, and was altogether horrid.”
“You think I’m likely to do the same? Much obliged.”
“No, I don’t—oh, dear , no!—but I hear people talking about money being such a temptation, and I sometimes wish you were poor; I shouldn’t worry then.”
“Do you worry about me, Jo?”
“A little, when you look moody or discontented, as you sometimes do; for you’ve got such a strong will, if you once get started wrong, I’m afraid it would be hard to stop you.”
Laurie walked in silence a few minutes, and Jo watched him, wishing she had held her tongue, for his eyes looked angry, though his lips still smiled as if at her warnings.
“Are you going to deliver lectures all the way home?” he asked presently.
“Of course not; why?”
“Because if you are, I’ll take a bus; if you are not, I’d like to walk with you, and tell you something very interesting.”
“I won’t preach any more, and I’d like to hear the news immensely.”
“Very well, then; come on. It’s a secret, and if I tell you, you must tell me yours.”