PART 2
30. CHAPTER THIRTY
(continued)
"Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! Why can't I learn to
keep it quiet?' groaned Jo, remembering words which had been
her undoing. When she had heard the explanation of the quoted
phrases, Mrs. March said sorrowfully...
"I wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it this
time, so try to bear it cheerfully, and don't sadden Amy's pleasure
by reproaches or regrets."
"I'll try," said Jo, winking hard as she knelt down to pick
up the basket she had joyfully upset. "I'll take a leaf out of
her book, and try not only to seem glad, but to be so, and not
grudge her one minute of happiness. But it won't be easy, for
it is a dreadful disappointment." And poor Jo bedewed the little
fat pincushion she held with several very bitter tears.
"Jo, dear, I'm very selfish, but I couldn't spare you, and
I'm glad you are not going quite yet," whispered Beth, embracing
her, basket and all, with such a clinging touch and loving face
that Jo felt comforted in spite of the sharp regret that made her
want to box her own ears, and humbly beg Aunt Carrol to burden
her with this favor, and see how gratefully she would bear it.
By the time Amy came in, Jo was able to take her part in
the family jubilation, not quite as heartily as usual, perhaps,
but without repinings at Amy's good fortune. The young lady
herself received the news as tidings of great joy, went about
in a solemn sort of rapture, and began to sort her colors and
pack her pencils that evening, leaving such trifles as clothes,
money, and passports to those less absorbed in visions of art
than herself.
"It isn't a mere pleasure trip to me, girls," she said impressively,
as she scraped her best palette. "It will decide my career,
for if I have any genius, I shall find it out in Rome,
and will do something to prove it."
"Suppose you haven't?" said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes,
at the new collars which were to be handed over to Amy.
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