Consequences

Mrs. Chester’s fair was so very elegant that it was considered a great honor by the young ladies

of the neighborhood to be invited. Everyone was much interested in it. Amy was asked, but Jo was not. Aunt Carrol was there, and talked about something to Mrs. March in a corner. It made the latter lady beam with satisfaction, and watch Amy with a face full of mingled pride and anxiety, though she did not betray the cause of her pleasure till several days later.

A week later a letter came from Aunt Carrol, and Mrs. March’s face was illuminated to such a degree when she read it that Jo and Beth, who were with her, demanded to know, what it said.

“Aunt Carrol is going abroad next month, and wants…”

“Me to go with her!” burst in Jo, flying out of her chair in an uncontrollable rapture.

“No, dear, not you. It’s Amy. I’m afraid it’s partly your own fault, dear. When Aunt spoke to me the other day, she regretted your blunt manners and too independent spirit. Here she writes, as if quoting something you had said – ’I planned at first to ask Jo, but as ‘favors burden her’, and she ‘hates French’, I think I won’t venture to invite her. Amy is more docile, will make a good companion for Flo.”

“Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! Why can’t I learn to keep it quiet?” groaned Jo, remembering her own words.

When she heard the explanation of the quoted phrases, Mrs. March said sorrowfully,

“Dear, there is no hope of it this time. Try to bear it cheerfully, and don’t sadden Amy’s pleasure.”

“I’ll try,” said Jo. “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.”

“Jo, dear, I’m very selfish, but I can’t spare you, and I’m glad you are not going quite yet,” whispered Beth. She embraced her with such a loving face that Jo felt comforted in spite of the sharp regret.

By the time Amy came in, Jo was able to take her part in the family happiness. The young lady herself received the news as with great joy, and went about packing her pencils.

“It isn’t a 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.

“Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living,” replied the aspirant for fame.

“No, you won’t. You hate hard work, and you’ll marry some rich man, and come home to sit in the lap of luxury all your days,” said Jo.

“Your predictions are sometimes right, but I don’t believe that one will be. I’m sure I wish it. If I can’t be an artist myself, I want to help those who are,” said Amy, smiling.

“Hum!” said Jo, with a sigh. “If you wish it you’ll have it, for your wishes are always granted – mine never.”

“Do you want to go?” asked Amy.

“Rather!”

“Well, in a year or two I’ll send for you, and we’ll dig in the Forum for relics, and carry out all the plans we’ve made so many times.”

“Thank you. I’ll remind you of your promise when that joyful day comes, if it ever does,” returned Jo, accepting the vague but magnificent offer gratefully.

There was not much time for preparation. The house was in a ferment till Amy was off. Jo bore up very well until it was done. Then she cried till she couldn’t cry any more. Amy likewise bore up well till the steamer sailed. Then just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it suddenly came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between her and those who loved her best, and she clung to Laurie, saying with a sob,

“Oh, take care of them for me, and if anything happens…”

“I will, dear, I will, and if anything happens, I’ll come and comfort you,” whispered Laurie, little dreaming that he would be called upon to keep his word.

So Amy sailed away to find the Old World, which is always new and beautiful to young eyes.

Our Foreign Correspondent

London

Dear girls,

Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel, Piccadilly. It’s not a fashionable place, but Uncle stopped here years ago, and won’t go anywhere else. However, we don’t intend to stay long. Oh, I can’t begin to tell you how I enjoy it all! I never can.

I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but after that I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day, with plenty of pleasant people to amuse me. Everyone was very kind to me, especially the officers. Don’t laugh, Jo, gentlemen are really necessary on the ship.

Aunt and Flo were ill all the way, and liked to be let alone. So I went and enjoyed myself. Such walks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid air and waves! It was almost as exciting as riding a fast horse, when we went rushing on so grandly.

It was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast, and found it very lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins here and there, ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemen’s countryseats in the valleys, with deer feeding in the parks. It was early in the morning, but I didn’t regret getting up to see it. The bay was full of little boats, the shore so picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead. I shall never forget it.

At Queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us, Mr. Lennox, and when I said something about the Lakes of Killarney, he sighed, and sung, with a look at me,

“Oh, have you ever heard of Kate Kearney?

She lives on the banks of Killarney;

From the glance of her eye,

Shun danger and fly,

For fatal is the glance of Kate Kearney.”

Wasn’t that nonsensical?

We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours. It’s a dirty, noisy place, and I was glad to leave it. Uncle rushed out and bought a pair of dogskin gloves^[20], some ugly, thick shoes, and an umbrella. I like traveling.

I shall never get to London if I don’t hurry. The trip was riding through a long picture gallery, full of lovely landscapes. The farmhouses were my delight, with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves, latticed windows, and stout women with rosy children at the doors. The grass is so green, sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark!

Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas. We rested, unpacked, and shopped a little between the showers. Aunt Mary got me some new things. A white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress, and the loveliest mantle you ever saw. Shopping in Regent Street is perfectly splendid. Things are very cheap, nice ribbons only sixpence a yard. I shall get my gloves in Paris. Doesn’t that sound elegant and rich?

Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while Aunt and Uncle were out, and went for a drive. We learned afterward that it wasn’t appropriate for young ladies to ride in them alone. It was so droll! We were shut in by the wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo was frightened, and told me to stop him. But he didn’t hear me. We were quite helpless. At last, in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and opened it. A red eye appeared, and a beery voice said,

“Now, then, mum?”

I gave my order soberly, and, with an “Aye, aye, mum,” the man made his horse walk, as if going to a funeral. I poked again and said, “A little faster,” then off he went very fast, as before. We resigned ourselves to our fate.

Today was fair, and we went to Hyde Park. The Duke of Devonshire lives near. And the Duke of Wellington’s house is not far off. Such sights as I saw, my dear! There were fat dowagers in their red and yellow coaches, with gorgeous servants in silk stockings and velvet coats, powdered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the rosiest children I ever saw, handsome girls, looking half asleep, dandies in queer English hats and lavender kids, and tall soldiers, in short red jackets and muffin caps.

The horses are splendid, and the men, especially the grooms, ride well. But the women are stiff, and bounce. I wanted to show them an American gallop!

Don’t expect me to describe Westminster Abbey, that’s impossible. I’ll only say it is sublime! This evening we are going to the theatre.

* * *

It’s very late, but I want to tell you what happened last evening. Who do you think came in, as we were at tea? Laurie’s English friends, Fred and Frank Vaughn! I was very surprised. Both are tall fellows with whiskers, Fred handsome in the English style, and Frank much better, for he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches. They heard from Laurie where we were, and came to ask us to their house. But Uncle doesn’t want to go, so we shall see them as soon as we can. They went to the theater with us, and we had such a good time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and Fred and I talked over past, present, and future fun. Tell Beth Frank asked for her, and was sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred laughed when I spoke of Jo, and sent his ‘respectful compliments to the big hat’. Neither of them forgot Camp Laurence, or the fun we had there.

Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I must stop. I really feel like a London lady, writing here so late, with my room full of pretty things. My head is full of parks, theaters, new gowns, and gallant creatures who say “Ah!” and twirl their blond mustaches.

Your loving Amy

Paris

Dear girls,

In my last letter I told you about our London visit, how kind the Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I enjoyed the trips to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum more than anything else. At Hampton I saw Raphael’s works, and at the Museum, rooms full of pictures by Turner, Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other great people. The day in Richmond Park was charming. We had an English picnic. The Vaughns hope to meet us in Rome next winter. I shall be dreadfully disappointed if they don’t. Grace and I are great friends, and the boys very nice fellows, especially Fred.

Well, he said that he was going to Switzerland. Aunt looked sober at first, but he was so cool about it she couldn’t say a word. He speaks French like a Frenchman, and I don’t know what we will do without him. Uncle doesn’t know ten words, and insists on talking English very loud. Aunt’s pronunciation is old-fashioned. Flo and I find we don’t know French at all, and are very grateful to have Fred to do the ‘parley vooing’^[21], as Uncle calls it.

We have such delightful times! Sightseeing from morning till night, stopping for nice lunches in the cafeterias. Rainy days I spend in the Louvre.

The Palais Royale is a heavenly place, so full of bijouterie and lovely things that I’m nearly distracted because I can’t buy them. Fred wanted to buy me some, but of course I didn’t allow it. Then the Bois and Champs Elysees are wonderful. I’ve seen the imperial family several times, the emperor an ugly, hard-looking man, the empress pale and pretty, but dressed in bad taste, I thought. Purple dress, green hat, and yellow gloves.

We often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are lovely, though the antique Luxembourg Gardens suit me better. Pere la Chaise cemetery is very curious. Many of the tombs are like small rooms. One sees a table, with images or pictures of the dead, and chairs for the mourners to sit in when they come to lament. That is so Frenchy^[22].

Our rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli. Sitting on the balcony, we look up and down the long, brilliant street. It is so pleasant that we spend our evenings talking there when too tired. Fred is very entertaining, and is altogether the most agreeable young man I ever knew-except Laurie, whose manners are more charming. I wish Fred was dark, for I don’t like light men, however, the Vaughns are very rich and come of an excellent family, so I won’t find fault with their yellow hair.

Next week we are going to Germany and Switzerland. I try to ‘remember correctly and describe clearly all that I see and admire’, as Father advised. It is good practice for me.

Adieu, I embrace you tenderly.

Votre Amie^[23].

Heidelberg

My dear Mamma,

I’ll try to tell you what happened. Some of it is very important, as you will see. The sail up the Rhine was perfect. I just sat and enjoyed it with all my might. At Coblentz we had a lovely time, for some students from Bonn, with whom Fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us a serenade. It was a moonlight night. About one o’clock Flo and I were waked by the most delicious music under our windows. We got up, and hid behind the curtains, but sly peeps showed us Fred and the students singing away down below. It was the most romantic thing I ever saw-the river, the bridge of boats, the great fortress opposite, moonlight everywhere, and music!

Then we threw down some flowers, and saw them scramble for them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies, and go away, to smoke and drink beer, I suppose. Next morning Fred showed me one of the crumpled flowers in his vest pocket, and looked very sentimental. I laughed at him, and said I didn’t throw it, but Flo. It seemed to disgust him, for he tossed it out of the window. I’m afraid I’m going to have trouble with that boy.

In Baden-Baden Fred lost a lot of money, and I scolded him. He needs someone to look after him when Frank is not with him. Kate hopes he’ll marry soon, and I quite agree with her that it will be well for him.

Frankfurt was delightful. I saw Goethe’s house, Schiller’s statue, and Dannecker’s famous ‘Ariadne.’ It was very lovely.

Now comes the serious part, for it happened here, and Fred has just gone. He is very kind and jolly. I never thought of anything but a traveling friendship till the serenade night. But I see that the moonlight walks, balcony talks, and daily adventures are something more to him than fun. I haven’t flirted, Mother, truly, I remember what you said to me. But people like me, what to do? Anyway, I decided something. If Fred gives me a proposal, I shall accept it, though I’m not madly in love. I like him. He is handsome, young, clever enough, and very rich-ever richer than the Laurences. I don’t think his family will object, and I shall be very happy, for they are all kind, generous people, and they like me. Fred, as the eldest twin, will have the estate, I suppose, and such a splendid one it is! A city house in a fashionable street, not so showy as our big houses, but twice as comfortable and full of solid luxury. I like it. I’ve seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants, and pictures of the country place, with its park, great house, lovely grounds, and fine horses. I may be mercenary, but I hate poverty. One of us must marry well. Meg didn’t, Jo won’t, Beth can’t. So I shall. I won’t marry a man I hate or despise. You may be sure of that. Though Fred is not my model hero, he is not bad. In time I will love him, too. It is impossible not to see that Fred likes me. He says nothing, but little things show it. He looks sentimental when we are alone, and frowns at anyone else who speaks to me.

Yesterday at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us and then said something to his friend, a baron, about ‘ein wonderschönes Blondchen^[24]’, Fred looked as fierce as a lion. He has Scotch blood in him.

Well, last evening we went up to the castle, at least all of us but Fred, who was to meet us there after going to the Post Office for letters. We had a charming time. The ruins, the vaults, and the beautiful gardens…I liked the great terrace best, for the view was divine. I sat there trying to sketch the gray stone lion’s head on the wall. I was cool and only a little excited.

Then I heard Fred’s voice, and then he came through the great arch to me. He looked so troubled that I forgot all about myself, and asked what the matter was. He got a letter begging him to come home, for Frank was very ill. So he was going at once on the night train and only had time to say good-bye. I was very sorry for him, and disappointed for myself. He shook hands, and said, “I shall soon come back, you won’t forget me, Amy?”

I didn’t promise, but I looked at him, and he was satisfied. I know he wanted to speak. We shall soon meet in Rome, and then I’ll say “Yes, thank you,” when he says “Will you, please?”

Of course this is all very private. Don’t be anxious about me, remember I am your ‘prudent Amy’. Be sure I will do nothing rashly. Love and trust me.

Ever your Amy