make him unhappy; for I couldn’t fall in love with the dear old fellow merely out of gratitude, could I?”
“You are sure of his feeling for you?”
The color deepened in Jo’s cheeks, as she answered, with the look of mingled pleasure, pride, and pain which young girls wear when speaking of first lovers—
“I’m afraid it is so, mother; he hasn’t said anything, but he looks a great deal. I think I had better go away before it comes to anything.”
“I agree with you, and if it can be managed you shall go.”
Jo looked relieved, and, after a pause, said, smiling, “How Mrs. Moffat would wonder at your want of management, if she knew; and how she will rejoice that Annie still may hope.”
“Ah, Jo, mothers may differ in their management, but the hope is the same in all—the desire to see their children happy. Meg is so, and I am content with her success. You I leave to enjoy your liberty till you tire of it; for only then will you find that there is something sweeter. Amy is my chief care now, but her good sense will help her. For Beth, I indulge no hopes except that she may be well. By the way, she seems brighter this last day or two. Have you spoken to her?”
“Yes; she owned she had a trouble, and promised to tell me by and by. I said no more, for I think I know it;” and Jo told her little story.
Mrs. March shook her head, and did not take so romantic a view of the case, but looked grave, and repeated her opinion that, for Laurie’s sake, Jo should go away for a time.
“Let us say nothing about it to him till the plan is settled; then I’ll run away before he can collect his wits and be tragical. Beth must think I’m