We've more of this sort of thing on hand than we know what to do with at present, but I'll run my eye over it, and give you an answer next week." Now, Jo did _not_ like to leave it, for Mr.Dashwood didn't suit her at all, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing for her to do but bow and walk away, looking particularly tall and dignified, as she was apt to do when nettled or abashed.

Just then she was both, for it was perfectly evident from the knowing glances exchanged among the gentlemen that her little fiction of 'my friend' was considered a good joke, and a laugh, produced by some inaudible remark of the editor, as he closed the door, completed her discomfiture.

Half resolving never to return, she went home, and worked off her irritation by stitching pinafores vigorously, and in an hour or two was cool enough to laugh over the scene and long for next week.
When she went again, Mr.Dashwood was alone, whereat she rejoiced.

Mr.
Dashwood was much wider awake than before, which was agreeable, and Mr.
Dashwood was not too deeply absorbed in a cigar to remember his manners, so the second interview was much more comfortable than the first.
"We'll take this (editors never say I), if you don't object to a few alterations.

It's too long, but omitting the passages I've marked will make it just the right length," he said, in a businesslike tone.
Jo hardly knew her own MS.