Little women. Part two by Alcott, Louisa May

“Now, this is filling at the price.”

“No slang,” snapped Jo, slamming down the pillow. But it was too late, there was no room for it, and coasting onto the floor, it disappeared in a most mysterious manner.

“Come, Jo, don’t be thorny. After studying himself to a skeleton all the week, a fellow deserves petting and ought to get it.”

“Beth will pet you. I’m busy.”

“No, she’s not to be bothered with me, but you like that sort of thing, unless you’ve suddenly lost your taste for it. Have you? Do you hate your boy, and want to fire pillows at him?”

Anything more wheedlesome than that touching appeal was seldom heard, but Jo quenched `her boy’ by turning on him with a stern query, “How many bouquets have you sent Miss Randal this week?”

“Not one, upon my word. She’s engaged. Now then.”

“I’m glad of it, that’s one of your foolish extravagances, sending flowers and things to girls for whom you don’t care two pins,” continued Jo reprovingly.

“Sensible girls for whom I do care whole papers of pins won’t let me send them `flowers and things’, so what can I do? My feelings need a `vent’.”

“Mother doesn’t approve of flirting even in fun, and you do flirt desperately, Teddy.”

“I’d give anything if I could answer, `So do you’. As I can’t, I’ll merely say that I don’t see any harm in that pleasant little game, if all parties understand that it’s only play.”

“Well, it does look pleasant, but I can’t learn how it’s done. I’ve tried, because one feels awkward in company not to do as everybody else is doing, but I don’t seem to get on”, said Jo, forgetting to play mentor.

“Take lessons of Amy, she has a regular talent for it.”

“Yes, she does it very prettily, and never seems to go too far. I suppose it’s natural to some people to please without trying, and others to always say and do the wrong thing in the wrong place.”

“I’m glad you can’t flirt. It’s really refreshing to see a sensible, straightforward girl, who can be jolly and kind without making a fool of herself. Between ourselves, Jo, some of the girls I know really do go on at such a rate I’m ashamed of them. They don’t mean any harm, I’m sure, but if they knew how we fellows talked about them afterward, they’d mend their ways, I fancy.”

“They do the same, and as their tongues are the sharpest, you fellows get the worst of it, for you are as silly as they, every bit. If you behaved properly, they would, but knowing you like their nonsense, they keep it up, and then you blame them.”

“Much you know about it, ma’am,” said Laurie in a superior tone. “We don’t like romps and flirts, though we may act as if we did sometimes. The pretty, modest girls are never talked about, except respectfully, among gentleman. Bless your innocent soul! If you could be in my place for a month you’d see things that would astonish you a trifle. Upon my word, when I see one of those harum-scarum girls, I always want to say with our friend Cock Robin . . .

“Out upon you, fie upon you, Bold-faced jig!”

It was impossible to help laughing at the funny conflict between Laurie’s chivalrous reluctance to speak ill of womankind, and his very natural dislike of the unfeminine folly of which fashionable society showed him many samples. Jo knew that `young Laurence’ was regarded as a most eligible parti by worldly mamas, was much smiled upon by their daughters, and flattered enough by ladies of all ages to make a coxcomb of him, so she watched him rather jealously, fearing he would be spoiled, and rejoiced more than she confessed to find that he still believed in modest girls. Returning suddenly to her admonitory tone, she said, dropping her voice, “If you must have a `went’, Teddy, go and devote yourself to one of the `pretty, modest girls’ whom you do respect, and not waste your time with the silly ones.”

“You really advise it?” And Laurie looked at her with an odd mixture of anxiety and merriment in his face.

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