“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 meekly whispering, “Yes, John,” and hiding her face on Mr. Brooke’s waistcoat.
Fifteen minutes after Aunt March’s departure, Jo came softly downstairs, paused an instant at the parlor door, and, hearing no sound within, nodded and smiled, with a satisfied expression, saying to herself, “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 exult over a fallen enemy, and to praise a strong-minded sister for the banishment of an objectionable lover, it certainly was a shock to behold the aforesaid enemy serenely sitting on the sofa, with the strong-minded sister enthroned upon his knee, and wearing an expression of the most abject submission. Jo gave a sort of gasp, 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 newcomer, “Sister Jo, congratulate us!”
That was adding insult to injury—it was altogether too much—and, making some wild demonstration with her hands, Jo vanished without a word. Rushing upstairs, she startled the invalids by exclaiming tragically, as she burst into the room, “Oh, do somebody go down quick; John Brooke is acting dreadfully, and Meg likes it!”
Mr. and Mrs. March left the room with speed; and, casting herself upon the bed, Jo cried and scolded tempestuously as she told the awful news to