ere gone to bed, she sat
thoughtfully staring at the fire, saying little and looking worried.
As the clock struck nine and Jo proposed bed, Meg suddenly left her
chair and, taking Beth's stool, leaned her elbows on her mother's knee,
saying bravely...

"Marmee, I want to 'fess'."

"I thought so. What is it, dear?"

"Shall I go away?" asked Jo discreetly.

"Of course not. Don't I always tell you everything? I was ashamed to
speak of it before the younger children, but I want you to know all the
dreadful things I did at the Moffats'."

"We are prepared," said Mrs. March, smiling but looking a little
anxious.

"I told you they dressed me up, but I didn't tell you that they
powdered and squeezed and frizzled, and made me look like a
fashion-plate. Laurie thought I wasn't proper. I know he did, though
he didn't say so, and one man called me 'a doll'. I knew it was silly,
but they flattered me and said I was a beauty, and quantities of
nonsense, so I let them make a fool of me."

"Is that all?" asked Jo, as Mrs. March looked silently at the downcast
face of her pretty daughter, and could not find it in her heart to
blame her little follies.

"No, I drank champagne and romped and tried to flirt, and was
altogether abominable," said Meg self-reproachfully.

"There is something more, I think." And Mrs. March smoothed the soft
cheek, which suddenly grew rosy as Meg answered slowly...

"Yes. It's very silly, but I want to tell it, because I hate to have
people say and think such things about us and Laurie."

Then she told the various bits of gossip she had heard at the Moffats',
and as she spoke, Jo saw her mother fold her lips tightly, as if ill
pleased that such ideas should be put into Meg's innocent mind.

"Well, if that isn't the greatest rubbish I ever heard," cried Jo
indignantly. "Why didn't you pop out and tell them so on the spot?"

"I couldn't, it was so embarrassing for me. I couldn't help hearing at
first, and then I was so angry and ashamed, I didn't remember that I
ought to go away."

"Just wait till I see Annie Moffat, and I'll show you how to settle
such ridiculous stuff. The idea of having 'plans' and being kind to
Laurie because he's rich and may marry us by-and-by! Won't he shout
when I tell him what those silly things say about us poor children?"
And Jo laughed, as if on second thoughts the thing struck her as a good
joke.

"If you tell Laurie, I'll never forgive you! She mustn