He bore it as long as he could, then went to his piano and began to play.

The windows were open, and Jo, walking in the garden with Beth, for once understood music better than her sister, for he played the '_Sonata Pathetique_', and played it as he never did before.
"That's very fine, I dare say, but it's sad enough to make one cry.
Give us something gayer, lad," said Mr.Laurence, whose kind old heart was full of sympathy, which he longed to show but knew not how.
Laurie dashed into a livelier strain, played stormily for several minutes, and would have got through bravely, if in a momentary lull Mrs.March's voice had not been heard calling, "Jo, dear, come in.

I want you." Just what Laurie longed to say, with a different meaning! As he listened, he lost his place, the music ended with a broken chord, and the musician sat silent in the dark.
"I can't stand this," muttered the old gentleman.

Up he got, groped his way to the piano, laid a kind hand on either of the broad shoulders, and said, as gently as a woman, "I know, my boy, I know." No answer for an instant, then Laurie asked sharply, "Who told you ?" "Jo herself." "Then there's an end of it!" And he shook off his grandfather's hands with an impatient motion, for though grateful for the sympathy, his man's pride could not bear a man's pity.
"Not quite.

I want to say one thing, and then there shall be an end of it," returned Mr.Laurence with unusual mildness.