“That ever I should live to see you a henpecked husband and enjoying it!” cried Jo, with uplifted hands.
It was good to see Laurie square his shoulders, and smile with masculine scorn at that insinuation, as he replied, with his “high and mighty” air—
“Amy is too well-bred for that, and I am not the sort of man to submit to it. My wife and I respect ourselves and one another too much ever to tyrannize or quarrel.”
Jo liked that, and thought the new dignity very becoming, but the boy seemed changing very fast into the man, and regret mingled with her pleasure.
“I am sure of that; Amy and you never did quarrel as we used to. She is the sun and I the wind, in the fable, and the sun managed the man best, you remember.”
“She can blow him up as well as shine on him,” laughed Laurie. “Such a lecture as I got at Nice! I give you my word it was a deal worse than any of your scoldings—a regular rouser. I’ll tell you all about it sometime— she never will, because, after telling me that she despised and was ashamed of me, she lost her heart to the despicable party and married the good-for-nothing.”
“What baseness! Well, if she abuses you, come to me, and I’ll defend you.”
“I look as if I needed it, don’t I?” said Laurie, getting up and striking an attitude which suddenly changed from the imposing to the rapturous, as Amy’s voice was heard calling—
“Where is she? Where’s my dear old Jo?”
In trooped the whole family, and everyone was hugged and kissed all over again, and, after several vain attempts, the three wanderers were set down