After dinner they walked through the conservatory, and over the nursery plantation, where some men were engaged taking young pear-trees from their “heeling-in” rows, and packing them in bundles for the buyers. Susie looked at the little wooden labels tied on each tree.
“You wrote these?” she said. The man assented. “They are not written distinctly enough. Please come to me to-morrow morning and I will give you models.” She spoke in a low, decided, but respectful tone. The count noticed everything. He talked with her a great deal, for he was greatly interested; but he noticed meanwhile every movement of Clara, and joined her in the walk back to the house, Susie remaining to look after something that needed attention.
“You are a little troubled, I see,” he said, in a very gentle tone. “I know exactly the reason. You do not feel so sure of yourself as Madam Susie does, and you fear I may possibly lose money through your firm. I wish to reassure you. I am a very cautious man in business. Everything is favorable here. I admire your partner exceedingly. She is capable of conducting enterprises to any extent. Let me advise you to trust her head just as you tell me you do her heart,” and stopping in the walk and turning his eyes full upon hers, he added, “Believe me sincere when I say again, I would rather lose money in this woman’s enterprise than gain any amount in any other. Do not think I could ever regret a loss incurred here.”
“I do not think you will lose,” she said, “but the new responsibility weighs upon me a little at first;” and her eyes, that had met his fully for a moment, fell before the magnetic power of his. That moment decided the location of the Social Palace. Not a word was spoken, not a glance that could show that these two were ever to be dearer to each other than friends; but some subtle movement in the brain destroyed the poise of nicely-balanced motives, and Oakdale was destined to witness a mighty enterprise.
The next morning Susie had decided upon a business trip to Boston; but feeling the importance of her presence at home, she asked Clara to go instead. Miss Charlotte Delano was to return by the first train, and so Clara readily assented. That being settled, they talked of the count, and rejoiced mutually over the prospect of extending their enterprise. “This day,” said Susie, “atones for all I have suffered—for every tear I have ever shed. I have been happy many times, but I have never felt the stimulus of pride. To-day, oh, Clara, my friend, I am both proud and happy, and my cup is full. Contrast this hour with that when you came to my room at your father’s. Do you remember? I can scarcely believe I am the same person. Still, whatever satisfaction I enjoy, whatever prospect of future happiness, I owe all to your blessed father and you.”
“You will insist upon inflicting me with your gratitude. You make me ashamed of doing so little. What was it, after all, but a little human decency? Now, you shall not talk of it. Tell me of the count. He spoke so admiringly of you. Are you not already in love with him?”
“I don’t know whether I could ever fall in love again. He seems to me something to be adored by me, not loved, in the common sense; but though my admiration for him is almost perfect, it will not be quite so, until he does one thing more.”
“What is that, Susie?”
“Until he wooes and wins Clara,” said Susie.
“Oh, you dear girl! I believe you are capable of anything. If you loved him, and could do so, you would sacrifice him to me.”