In we marched, and I did do my best to seem agreeable and not say anything odd, for I wanted not to make Laurie ashamed of me in all that elegant society. We fared well enough through supper, and then it seemed that Fortune had smiled upon me for a brief while, for old Mr. Tudor introduced me to his uncle who was visiting from Scotland, and a capital old fellow he was, with bonnie blue eyes and a shock of white hair that stood at all angles above his ruddy face. He had been a major in the British Army in India, and such stories he was telling me of “In-ja,” as he called it, of men who walked on coals and made snakes dance by playing on a pipe, of ladies in bright-colored silks who rode in carriages upon the backs of elephants, that I do believe I could have listened to him all night long.

Unfortunately, our pleasant interlude was not to last, for, just at the moment when the major was arriving at the most thrilling portion of a confrontation he had had deep in the jungle with a prowling panther, his great-nephew, young Mr. Tudor, appeared as from nowhere, bowed coolly to his uncle, and said, “My apologies, sir, for the interruption, but I fear I must request Miss March’s presence in the drawing room. She has a message from home of some urgency.”

I flew behind him from the conservatory to the drawing room, my heart in my mouth, imagining who knows what having happened in my absence, to Amy, or to one of the twins, or even (oh, Marmee) the worst news of all having come from the seashore. But when we reached the drawing room, messenger was there none, only young Mr. Tudor, looking immensely pleased with himself among his group of friends.

“Wasn’t that capital play, Miss March?” he demanded. “I saw you all alone and enslaved by the old fellow’s dronings, and knew that if I did not move to rescue you, you should be there hearing his endless tedious stories for the rest of the night. Now, ain’t you pleased that I did so, and mightily grateful to me?”

Oh, Marmee, I was mad. I tried to do as you have taught me, to conquer my temper and to be still, and perhaps if Meg had been there to raise her eyebrows at me, or Amy to say something charming to make us all laugh and let the moment pass, I might yet have succeeded. But there was only me, Marmee, and my dreadful, wicked anger.

“You are the rudest and most disagreeable young man I have ever met!” I said, clenching my fists, for with very little further provocation I do believe I would have struck him.

I suppose he is not accustomed to hearing such frank tones, for he stood back, his hand upon his breast in outrage. He has horrid hands, Marmee, as white and as plump as a girl’s, and—being the most dreadful dandy—he loves to load them down with heavy rings set with diamonds and rubies. As I looked at them, oh, dear, the devil came into me, and before I could stop myself, I had added,