Little Women
Feeling almost happy again, she laid by a few ferns and roses for
herself, and quickly made up the rest in dainty bouquets for the
breasts, hair, or skirts of her friends, offering them so prettily that
Clara, the elder sister, told her she was ‘the sweetest little thing
she ever saw’, and they looked quite charmed with her small attention.
Somehow the kind act finished her despondency, and when all the rest
went to show themselves to Mrs. Moffat, she saw a happy, bright-eyed
face in the mirror, as she laid her ferns against her rippling hair and
fastened the roses in the dress that didn’t strike her as so very
shabby now.
She enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she danced to her
heart’s content. Everyone was very kind, and she had three compliments.
Annie made her sing, and some one said she had a remarkably fine voice.
Major Lincoln asked who ‘the fresh little girl with the beautiful eyes’
was, and Mr. Moffat insisted on dancing with her because she ‘didn’t
dawdle, but had some spring in her’, as he gracefully expressed it. So
altogether she had a very nice time, till she overheard a bit of
conversation, which disturbed her extremely. She was sitting just
inside the conservatory, waiting for her partner to bring her an ice,
when she heard a voice ask on the other side of the flowery wall...
“How old is he?”
“Sixteen or seventeen, I should say,” replied another voice.
“It would be a grand thing for one of those girls, wouldn’t it? Sallie
says they are very intimate now, and the old man quite dotes on them.”
“Mrs. M. has made her plans, I dare say, and will play her cards well,
early as it is. The girl evidently doesn’t think of it yet,” said Mrs.
Moffat.
“She told that fib about her momma, as if she did know, and colored up
when the flowers came quite prettily. Poor thing! She’d be so nice if
she was only got up in style. Do you think she’d be offended if we
offered to lend her a dress for Thursday?” asked another voice.
“She’s proud, but I don’t believe she’d mind, for that dowdy tarlaton
is all she has got. She may tear it tonight, and that will be a good
excuse for offering a decent one.”
Here Meg’s partner appeared, to find her looking much flushed and
rather agitated. She was proud, and her pride was useful just then, for
it helped her hide her mortification, anger, and disgust at what she
had just heard. For, innocent and unsuspicious as she was, she could
not help understanding the gossip of her friends. She tried to forget
it, but could not, and kept repeating to herself, “Mrs. M. has made her
plans,” “that fib about her mamma,” and “dowdy tarlaton,” till she was
ready to cry and rush home to tell her troubles and ask for advice. As
that was impossible, she did her best to seem gay, and being rather
excited, she succeeded so well that no one dreamed what an effort she
was making. She was very glad when it was all over and she was quiet in
her bed, where she could think and wonder and fume till her head ached
and her hot cheeks were cooled by a few natural tears. Those foolish,
yet well meant words, had opened a new world to Meg, and much disturbed
the peace of the old one in which till now she had lived as happily as
a child. Her innocent friendship with Laurie was spoiled by the silly
speeches she had overheard. Her faith in her mother was a little shaken
by the worldly plans attributed to her by Mrs. Moffat, who judged
others by herself, and the sensible resolution to be contented with the
simple wardrobe which suited a poor man’s daughter was weakened by the
unnecessary pity of girls who thought a shabby dress one of the
greatest calamities under heaven.
Poor Meg had a restless night, and got up heavy-eyed, unhappy, half
resentful toward her friends, and half ashamed of herself for not
speaking out frankly and setting everything right. Everybody dawdled
that morning, and it was noon before the girls found energy enough even
to take up their worsted work. Something in the manner of her friends
struck Meg at once. They treated her with more respect, she thought,
took quite a tender interest in what she said, and looked at her with
eyes that plainly betrayed curiosity. All this surprised and flattered
her, though she did not understand it till Miss Belle looked up from
her writing, and said, with a sentimental air...
“Daisy, dear, I’ve sent an invitation to your friend, Mr. Laurence, for
Thursday. We should like to know him, and it’s only a proper compliment
to you.”
Meg colored, but a mischievous fancy to tease the girls made her reply
demurely, “You are very kind, but I’m afraid he won’t come.”
“Why not, Cherie?” asked Miss Belle.
“He’s too old.”
“My child, what do you mean? What is his age, I beg to know!” cried
Miss Clara.
“Nearly seventy, I believe,” answered Meg, counting stitches to hide
the merriment in her eyes.
“You sly creature! Of course we meant the young man,” exclaimed Miss
Belle, laughing.
“There isn’t any, Laurie is only a little boy.” And Meg laughed also at
the queer look which the sisters exchanged as she thus described her
supposed lover.
“About your age,” Nan said.
“Nearer my sister Jo’s; I am seventeen in August,” returned Meg,
tossing her head.
“It’s very nice of him to send you flowers, isn’t it?” said Annie,
looking wise about nothing.
“Yes, he often does, to all of us, for their house is full, and we are
so fond of them. My mother and old Mr. Laurence are friends, you know,
so it is quite natural that we children should play together,” and Meg
hoped they would say no more.
“It’s evident Daisy isn’t out yet,” said Miss Clara to Belle with a
nod.
“Quite a pastoral state of innocence all round,” returned Miss Belle
with a shrug.
“I’m going out to get some little matters for my girls. Can I do
anything for you, young ladies?” asked Mrs. Moffat, lumbering in like
an elephant in silk and lace.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” replied Sallie. “I’ve got my new pink silk for
Thursday and don’t want a thing.”
“Nor I...” began Meg, but stopped because it occurred to her that she
did want several things and could not have them.
“What shall you wear?” asked Sallie.
“My old white one again, if I can mend it fit to be seen, it got sadly
torn last night,” said Meg, trying to speak quite easily, but feeling
very uncomfortable.
“Why don’t you send home for another?” said Sallie, who was not an
observing young lady.
“I haven’t got any other.” It cost Meg an effort to say that, but
Sallie did not see it and exclaimed in amiable surprise, “Only that?
How funny...” She did not finish her speech, for Belle shook her head
at her and broke in, saying kindly...
“Not at all. Where is the use of having a lot of dresses when she isn’t
out yet? There’s no need of sending home, Daisy, even if you had a
dozen, for I’ve got a sweet blue silk laid away, which I’ve outgrown,
and you shall wear it to please me, won’t you, dear?”
“You are very kind, but I don’t mind my old dress if you don’t, it does
well enough for a little girl like me,” said Meg.
“Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style. I admire to
do it, and you’d be a regular little beauty with a touch here and
there. I shan’t let anyone see you till you are done, and then we’ll
burst upon them like Cinderella and her godmother going to the ball,”
said Belle in her persuasive tone.
Meg couldn’t refuse the offer so kindly made, for a desire to see if
she would be ‘a little beauty’ after touching up caused her to accept
and forget all her former uncomfortable feelings toward the Moffats.
On the Thursday evening, Belle shut herself up with her maid, and
between them they turned Meg into a fine lady. They crimped and curled
her hair, they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder,
touched her lips with coralline salve to make them redder, and Hortense
would have added ‘a soupcon of rouge’, if Meg had not rebelled. They
laced her into a sky-blue dress, which was so tight she could hardly
breathe and so low in the neck that modest Meg blushed at herself in
the mirror. A set of silver filagree was added, bracelets, necklace,
brooch, and even earrings, for Hortense tied them on with a bit of pink
silk which did not show. A cluster of tea-rose buds at the bosom, and a
ruche, reconciled Meg to the display of her pretty, white shoulders,
and a pair of high-heeled silk boots satisfied the last wish of her
heart. A lace handkerchief, a plumy fan, and a bouquet in a shoulder
holder finished her off, and Miss Belle surveyed her with the
satisfaction of a little girl with a newly dressed doll.
“Mademoiselle is charmante, tres jolie, is she not?” cried Hortense,
clasping her hands in an affected rapture.
“Come and show yourself,” said Miss Belle, leading the way to the room
where the others were waiting.
As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts trailing, her earrings
tinkling, her curls waving, and her heart beating, she felt as if her
fun had really begun at last, for the mirror had plainly told her that
she was ‘a little beauty’. Her friends repeated the pleasing phrase
enthusiastically, and for several minutes she stood, like a jackdaw in
the fable, enjoying her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like
a party of magpies.
“While I dress, do you drill her, Nan, in the management of her skirt
and those French heels, or she will trip herself up. Take your silver
butterfly, and catch up that long curl on the left side of her head,
Clara, and don’t any of you disturb the charming work of my hands,”
said Belle, as she hurried away, looking well pleased with her success.
“You don’t look a bit like yourself, but you are very nice. I’m nowhere
beside you, for Belle has heaps of taste, and you’re quite French, I
assure you. Let your flowers hang, don’t be so careful of them, and be
sure you don’t trip,” returned Sallie, trying not to care that Meg was
prettier than herself.
Keeping that warning carefully in mind, Margaret got safely down stairs
and sailed into the drawing rooms where the Moffats and a few early
guests were assembled. She very soon discovered that there is a charm
about fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people and secures
their respect. Several young ladies, who had taken no notice of her
before, were very affectionate all of a sudden. Several young
gentlemen, who had only stared at her at the other party, now not only
stared, but asked to be introduced, and said all manner of foolish but
agreeable things to her, and several old ladies, who sat on the sofas,
and criticized the rest of the party, inquired who she was with an air
of interest. She heard Mrs. Moffat reply to one of them...
“Daisy March—father a colonel in the army—one of our first families,
but reverses of fortune, you know; intimate friends of the Laurences;
sweet creature, I assure you; my Ned is quite wild about her.”
“Dear me!” said the old lady, putting up her glass for another
observation of Meg, who tried to look as if she had not heard and been
rather shocked at Mrs. Moffat’s fibs. The ‘queer feeling’ did not pass
away, but she imagined herself acting the new part of fine lady and so
got on pretty well, though the tight dress gave her a side-ache, the
train kept getting under her feet, and she was in constant fear lest
her earrings should fly off and get lost or broken. She was flirting
her fan and laughing at the feeble jokes of a young gentleman who tried
to be witty, when she suddenly stopped laughing and looked confused,
for just opposite, she saw Laurie. He was staring at her with
undisguised surprise, and disapproval also, she thought, for though he
bowed and smiled, yet something in his honest eyes made her blush and
wish she had her old dress on. To complete her confusion, she saw Belle