"But surely you would not have me think there is no such thing as true love in the world?" cried Helena, in wondering and pained surprise. "There is no true and enduring love, no grand eternal passion between the sexes. There is a possibility--yet that even is rare--of a lasting platonic affection--of a kind, unselfish friendship. But it is a mockery and blasphemy for two human beings to stand at the altar and in the name of God bind themselves to be true to a sentiment which cannot last--which never lasts. One or both must change, both must suffer from the unholy bondage. Women are fickle, and men are base. I would rather see Dolores, my only human tie, laid in her grave, than led to the marriage altar. No, no, child; listen to an old man who has seen much of the world, and let no thought of marriage ever enter your life plans." Mr. Laurence's face was very pale, and his voice trembled with the excitement which this subject always produced. Dolores saw that he was in a highly nervous state, and adroitly changed the conversation by requesting Helena to come into the music room and sing for them. She possessed a voice of remarkable beauty and sweetness--a voice which already was beginning to develop into wonderful flexibility and power, under the vocal training she received at the Academy. Like most of Orpheus' devotees, Helena was much more absorbed in the music than in the words of her songs; and so, quite unconsciously she illustrated the old man's theory of the ephemeral nature of love, in her selection of this song, which was set to a brilliant air and accompaniment. A little leaf just in the forest's edge, All summer long, had listened to the wooing Of amorous birds that flew across the hedge, Singing their blithe sweet songs for her undoing. So many were the flattering things they told her, The parent tree seemed quite too small to hold her. At last one lonesome day she saw them fly Across the fields behind the coquette summer, They passed her with a laughing light good-by, When from the north, there strode a strange new comer; Bold was his mien, as he gazed on her, crying, "How comes it, then, that thou art left here sighing!" "Now by my faith thou art a lovely leaf---- May I not kiss that cheek so fair and tender?" Her slighted heart welled full of bitter grief, The rudeness of his words did not offend her. She felt so sad, so desolate, so deserted, Oh, if her lonely fate might be averted. "One little kiss," he sighed, "I ask no more----" His face was cold, his lips too pale for passion. She smiled assent; and then bold Frost leaned lower, And clasped her close, and kissed in lover's fashion. Her smooth cheek flushed to sudden guilty splendor, Another kiss, and then complete surrender.