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 are young and in love.
If Aunt March had begged Meg to accept John Brooke, she would probably have declared she couldn't think of it, but as she was preemptorily ordered not to like him, she immediately made up her mind that she would.
Inclination as well as perversity made the decision easy, and being already much excited, Meg opposed the old lady with unusual spirit.
"I shall marry whom I please, Aunt March, and you can leave your money to anyone you like," she said, nodding her head with a resolute air.
"Highty-tighty!
Is that the way you take my advice, Miss?
You'll be sorry for it by-and-by, when you've tried love in a cottage and found it a failure."
"It can't be a worse one than some people find in big houses," retorted Meg.
Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she did not know her in this new mood.
Meg hardly knew herself, she felt so brave and independent, so glad to defend John and assert her right to love him, if she liked.
Aunt March saw that she had begun wrong, and after a little pause, made a fresh start, saying as mildly as she could,
"Now, Meg, my dear, be reasonable and take my advice.
I mean it kindly, and don't want you to spoil your whole life by making a mistake at the beginning.
You ought to marry well and help your family. It's your duty to make a rich match and it ought to be impressed upon you."
"Father and Mother don't think so. They like John though he is poor."
"Your parents, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than a pair of babies."
"I'm glad of it," cried Meg stoutly.
Aunt March took no notice, but went on with her lecture.
"This Rook is poor and hasn't got any rich relations, has he?"
"No, but he has many warm friends."
"You can't live on friends, try it and see how cool they'll grow.
He hasn't any business, has he?"
"Not yet.
Mr. Laurence is going to help him."
"That won't last long.
James Laurence is a crotchety old fellow and not to be depended on.
So you intend to marry a man without money, position, or business, and go on working harder than you do now, when you might be comfortable all your days by minding me and doing better?
I thought you had more sense, Meg."
"I couldn't do better if I waited half my life!
John is good and wise, he's got heaps of talent, he's willing to work and sure to get on, he's so energetic and brave.
Everyone likes and respects him, and I'm proud to think he cares for me, though I'm so poor and young and silly," said Meg, looking prettier than ever in her earnestness.
"He knows you have got rich relations, child. That's the secret of his liking, I suspect."
"Aunt March, how dare you say such a thing?