The hard, bitter look came back again as he said that, and it troubled Amy, for she did not know what balm to apply.
"I was wrong; I didn't know; I'm very sorry I was so cross, but I can't help wishing you'd bear it better, Teddy, dear."
"Don't! that's her name for me," and Laurie put up his hand with a quick gesture to stop the words spoken in Jo's half-kind, half-reproachful tone. "Wait till you've tried it yourself," he added, in a low voice, as he pulled up the grass by the handful.
"I'd take it manfully, and be respected if I couldn't be loved," cried Amy, with the decision of one who knew nothing about it.
Now Laurie nattered himself that he had borne it remarkably well,—making no moan, asking no sympathy, and taking his trouble away to live it down alone. Amy's lecture put the matter in a new light, and for the first time it did look weak and selfish to lose heart at the first failure, and shut himself up in moody indifference. He felt as if suddenly shaken out of a pensive dream, and found it impossible to go to sleep again. Presently he sat up, and asked, slowly,—
"Do you think Jo would despise me as you do?"
"Yes, if she saw you now. She hates lazy people. Why don't you do something splendid, and make her love you?"
"I did my best, but it was no use."
"Graduating well, you mean? That was no more than you ought to have done, for your grandfather's sake. It would have been shameful to fail after