mind by-and-by? I'll wait and say
nothing till you have had more time. Don't play with me, Meg. I
didn't think that of you."

"Don't think of me at all. I'd rather you wouldn't," said Meg, taking
a naughty satisfaction in trying her lover's patience and her own power.

He was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novel
heroes whom she admired, but he neither slapped his forehead nor
tramped about the room as they did. He just stood looking at her so
wistfully, so tenderly, that she found her heart relenting in spite of
herself. What would have happened next I cannot say, if Aunt March had
not come hobbling in at this interesting minute.

The old lady couldn't resist her longing to see her nephew, for she had
met Laurie as she took her airing, and hearing of Mr. March's arrival,
drove straight out to see him. The family were all busy in the back
part of the house, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping to
surprise them. She did surprise two of them so much that Meg started
as if she had seen a ghost, and Mr. Brooke vanished into the study.

"Bless me, what's all this?" cried the old lady with a rap of her cane
as she glanced from the pale young gentleman to the scarlet young lady.

"It's Father's friend. I'm so surprised to see you!" stammered Meg,
feeling that she was in for a lecture now.

"That's evident," returned Aunt March, sitting down. "But what is
Father's friend saying to make you look like a peony? There's mischief
going on, and I insist upon knowing what it is," with another rap.

"We were only talking. Mr. Brooke came for his umbrella," began Meg,
wishing that Mr. Brooke and the umbrella were safely out of the house.

"Brooke? That boy's tutor? Ah! I understand now. I know all about
it. Jo blundered into a wrong message in one of your Father's letters,
and I made her tell me. You haven't gone and accepted him, child?"
cried Aunt March, looking scandalized.

"Hush! He'll hear. Shan't I call Mother?" said Meg, much troubled.

"Not yet. I've something to say to you, and I must free my mind at
once. Tell me, do you mean to marry this Cook? If you do, not one
penny of my money ever goes to you. Remember that, and be a sensible
girl," said the old lady impressively.

Now Aunt March possessed in perfection the art of rousing the spirit of
opposition in the gentlest people, and enjoyed doing it. The best of
us have a spice of perversity in us, especially when we