“That will do, that will do, young lady. Too many sugarplums are not good for him. His music isn’t bad, but I hope he will do as well in more important things. Going? well, I’m much obliged to you, and I hope you’ll come again. My respects to your mother. Good night, Doctor Jo.”
He shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did not please him. When they got into the hall, Jo asked Laurie if she had said something amiss. He shook his head.
“No, it was me. He doesn’t like to hear me play.”
“I’ll tell you some day. John is going home with you, as I can’t.”
“No need of that. I am not a young lady, and it’s only a step. Take care of yourself, won’t you?”
“Yes, but you will come again, I hope?”
“If you promise to come and see us after you are well.”
“Good night, Laurie!”
“Good night, Jo, good night!”
When all the afternoon’s adventures had been told, the family felt inclined to go visiting in a body, for each found something very attractive in the big house on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. March wanted to talk of her father with the old man who had not forgotten him, Meg longed to walk in the conservatory, Beth sighed for the grand piano, and Amy was eager to see the fine pictures and statues.
“Mother, why didn’t Mr. Laurence like to have Laurie play?” asked Jo, who was of an inquiring disposition.
“I am not sure, but I think it was because his son, Laurie’s father, married an Italian lady, a musician, which displeased the old man, who is very proud. The lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but he did not like her, and never saw his son after he married. They both died when Laurie was a little child, and then his grandfather took him home. I fancy the boy, who was born in Italy, is not very strong, and the old man is afraid of losing him, which makes him so careful. Laurie comes naturally by his love of music, for he is like his mother, and I dare say his grandfather fears that he may want to be a musician. At any rate, his skill reminds him of the woman he did not like, and so he ‘glowered’ as Jo said.”
“Dear me, how romantic!” exclaimed Meg.
“How silly!” said Jo. “Let him be a musician if he wants to, and not plague his life out sending him to college, when he hates to go.”
“That’s why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners, I suppose. Italians are always nice,” said Meg, who was a little sentimental.
“What do you know about his eyes and his manners? You never spoke to him, hardly,” cried Jo, who was not sentimental.