“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.” “I would; but there is nothing of that kind to be. We are to be, he and I, good friends; but Heaven has designed him for you and you for him. I feel sure of it.” “Do you forget that you are talking to the legal wife of Dr. Delano?” asked Clara, with a very confident voice at the beginning, but with something very like a sigh at the end. “Oh, well; Fate can tear down a shanty when it has a palace to build.” The count left in the same train with Miss Charlotte and Clara, and during the journey an incident occurred which should be mentioned, because it shows something more of Clara’s nature. On changing cars at the railroad junction, the two ladies took a seat, the count occupying the one in front of them, and another gentleman, the one behind. This gentleman was just putting away a time-table, which Clara politely asked to see. The gentleman thereupon made some remark, which Clara answered, and they continued talking for some minutes. Miss Charlotte was a little shocked at such unconventionality. To her mind, it proved very conclusively that Clara had no intention of making a soft impression upon the count, else she would be more careful of her actions. The count kept on reading his paper, not seeming to notice anything—not even the fact that the stranger gave Clara his card just before he left the train, whereupon she promptly returned him hers. Miss Charlotte could not forbear remarking upon the strange proceeding. “Why should we treat strangers with suspicion and reserve?” asked Clara. “It is my ambition to be treated by strangers exactly as one gentleman treats another; this is Susie’s idea, also, and Miss Marston’s. Gallantry is a wretched substitute for that respect that comes from the sense of equality.” “You are right, madam,” said the count, with great earnestness, as he folded his paper. “Every such act as this on the part of women, teaches men a lesson—one they are slow to learn—that women are not necessarily and by nature simply pretty, dependent dolls, to be flattered and caressed——”