Act 2, Scene 2

Laurie: Is this the home of that literary genius March you hear so much talk about?

Laurie! What a surprise! (hugs him) But your letter said—

Laurie: I left campus a few days early. And I did well on my exams, you’ll be surprised to hear. John Brooke ought to be proud.

Me too! He’s not the only one who had to drum some sense into that head of yours. So sit and tell me all the news. Did you propose marriage to anyone this week?

Laurie: Not this week!

You are incorrigible, Laurie. According to your letters you’ve fallen in love every month this past semester.

Laurie: Don’t be like that, Jo. Jealousy isn’t for you.

Jealousy? I just didn’t want you to give flirting a bad name. And you do flirt atrociously, Laurie.

Laurie: I’m learning. But I’m glad you can’t flirt, Jo. It’s really refreshing to see a sensible, straightforward girl who can be jolly and kind without making a fool of herself.

Oh, yes, indeed! I’ve grown very mature and dignified since you’ve been away.

Laurie: You have? I see you’ve burnt the hem of that dress as well.

Oh, that. Couldn’t be helped.

Laurie: And grandfather tells me you gave Amy a mild shock by racing all the way to church on Easter Sunday.

I was late. Besides, it was a luscious day!

Laurie: You haven’t changed.

But you have. Why are you looking at me in that way?

Laurie: In what way?

That painfully serious way.

Laurie: Is it so obvious?

Laurie, what is it?

Laurie: I must say it, Jo. And you must hear me. It’s no use. We’ve got to have it out.

I don’t think I like this conversation. But say what you like, I’ll listen.

Laurie: I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you, Jo. Couldn’t help it. I’ve tried to show it in the past but you wouldn’t let me.

Oh, dear…I wished to save you this, Laurie. I only wanted you to understand that I don’t—

Laurie: I know. But it made me love you all the more. Being away at school these two years, meeting new people, knowing what different girls are like—it only made me want to be with you. I’ve waited and I’ve hoped, even though I’m not half good enough for you—

Yes, you are. You’re a great deal too good for me, and I’m grateful to you and so proud and fond of you. But somehow I don’t love you as you want me to. I’ve tried but I can’t change the feeling; and it would be a lie to say I do when I don’t.

Laurie: Really, truly, Jo?

Really, truly, dear. (he moves away) Oh, I am so sorry, desperately sorry. I could kill myself if it would do any good! I wish you wouldn’t take it so hard.

Laurie: How am I supposed to take it? We are no longer children, Jo. We aren’t playing a game. We cannot always remain…like we were.

Can’t we? (pause) I suppose not.

Laurie: Of course, there is one very logical explanation for your lack of feelings towards me.

There is?

Laurie: There’s someone else that you love.

Is there indeed? Wild old Jo March! Who’d have me? (he looks at her) No, Laurie. There’s no one else. I haven’t the least idea of going off and loving anyone else.

Laurie: But you will after a while. And what will become of me?

You’ll love someone else too, like a sensible boy, and forget all this trouble. Someone fine and lovely and accomplished who will never make you feel ashamed—someone elegant. Not odd Jo March with her scribbling and awkward ways.

Laurie: Anything more?

Nothing more, except that I don’t believe I shall ever marry. I’m happy as I am and love my liberty too well to be in any hurry to give it up for any mortal man.

Laurie: I know better. You think so now, but there will come a time, sooner than you think, when you’ll meet somebody—some fool who makes you think you’re something that you’re not—and you will love him tremendously and live and die for him. I know you will. It’s just your way. Well, I for one will not be able to stand by and watch such a thing happen! (rushes away)

Laurie! Where are you going? (from the top of the steps)

Laurie: To the Devil!

Lights up on Marmee sewing, Jo enters

You asked me the other day what my wishes were, Marmee.

Marmee: Yes, Jo. You seemed somewhat despondent and I wanted to know what was on your mind.

Well, I’ll tell you one of my wishes. I want to go away somewhere this winter for a change.

Marmee: Why, Jo?

I want something new. I feel restless and anxious.

Marmee: Anxious for what, dear?

To be seeing and doing and learning more than I am. Aunt March used to talk about going to Europe someday and taking me with her as a companion. How I used to dream that it would come true! But now I know it won’t. Lately all I do is brood too much over my own small affairs. I need stirring up…to try my wings.

Marmee: And where do you want to try your wings?

New York. I had a bright idea yesterday and this is it: You know Mrs. Kirke wrote to you asking if you knew of some respectable young person to try to teach her children and to sew and whatnot? I think I should suit her if I tried.

Marmee: I’m sure you would, dear. And it would be a good experience for you. But what about your writing?

All the better for a change. I’ve gotten so stale. In New York I shall see and hear all new things, get new ideas!

Marmee: I have no doubt of it. But are these your only reasons for this sudden fancy?

No, Marmee…

Marmee: It’s Laurie, isn’t it?

Yes

Marmee: You don’t care for him in the way it is evidence he cares for you?

I can’t help it. I love the dear boy as I always have but—No, not in the way he wishes.

Marmee: I’m glad of that, Jo.

You are?

Marmee: Yes. Because I don’t think you are suited to one another. As friends you are very happy together. But I fear you are too much alike and too fond of freedom, not to mention your strong wills, to ever truly be happy as husband and wife.

So you don’t mind? I mean, Aunt March would have a conniption fit if she knew I was tossing off a Laurence!

Marmee: Let’s put it this way: Mrs. Moffett will have reason for her hope for Clara! (both laugh)

Oh, Marmee! (embrace)

Josephine: so plans were made to send Jo March out into the wide wide world. Mrs. Kirke gladly accepted me and all the travel arrangements were made. But leaving Beth was the most difficult part of my plan.

Lights up

I will write and tell you about everything, Beth. Every day, if I can. And you’ll have wonderful letters to keep you company rather than just moody old Jo, like you have now.

Beth: Oh, I am so happy for you, Jo!

Are you, my dear?

Beth: I always knew you would have to leave this place and go off to become a great writer.

Well, governess at Mrs. Kirke’s boarding house may not be the same as going off to Paris to write poetry but it’s a start! (both laugh)

Beth: I shall miss you, Jo.

And I will miss you, my precious Beth. I’d take you with me if—