The parts of the party that I told in the family’s letter are true, Meg—never told fibs to anyone, ain’t going to start now. I did rig up as Mrs. Malaprop, and I did dance, and joke, and make play, and I enjoyed it, too, and I did make Herr Boormann laugh at me harder than anyone else did—I’m good for making sport, it seems. But when midnight struck and we all unmasked, I looked across the room to him and saw him standing beside the mantelpiece with stupid little Lucy’s hand on his arm in that detestable way she has. I walked towards him eagerly, thinking to claim my prize, and drew into earshot just in time to hear Lucy say to him, “What capital fun that queer Miss March can be when she unbends. It quite makes me yearn to be an old maid, too.”

“You vill nefer be as plain as old Mees Marsch,” he replied, looking at her with a meaning in those beautiful blue eyes that even I could not mistake, and so, arm in arm, unseeing of me, they strolled together out of the parlor and into the garden.

I made myself look gay for an hour, for my pride made me hold my head high. But as soon as I could creep away, I went to my room to weep my heart out for my foolish hopes and stupid regrets. I am plain, and awkward, and old, Meg, and it was nothing but vanity and imagination to think Herr Boormann might look at me; if I rig myself up to be a guy and make people laugh at me, then that don’t mean they’ll love me. I know that now.

Well, if I am to be an old maid, at least I shall make sure to be a useful one. Professor Bhaer is still in his delight about the pipe holder I gave him for Christmas, and it does me good to see it. I’m still plugging away at my German lessons with him—shan’t let a little thing like a broken heart stop me from the pursuit of knowledge—and even beginning to fancy I am making some progress, so one day I shall be able to read Schiller and even Goethe in the original, see if I don’t. The Professor is a fine teacher, even though he does resemble a middle-aged Struwwelpeter!

With love from your sadder but wiser sister,

Jo.

Lulu turned the paper in her hands, absorbing this unexpected turn to her great-great-grandmother’s love story. So she had not, after all, married the handsome young student with the thick yellow hair and the charming manner; and meanwhile, and quite by coincidence, the real Professor Bhaer had been present all along in the correspondence, and from Jo’s description was a middle-aged man with a wild beard, and a capacity to be delighted by something so simple as a pipe holder. Lulu laid down the last letter and went back to read them all from the beginning, examining them for mentions of him. Yes, there he was, homely and stout, with a propensity to pull at his beard until it resembled a great towzled brown bush, and a resemblance to someone with a curious name which she must find out about. What a far cry he was from the handsome young man with the rich blue eyes and the gallant manner.