“Then,” I reply, “the friendship was too unequal to last long.” Not that I mean for a moment to insist that two friends ought to be on a level in every particular, but each should be superior in turn. It won’t do for one always to be able to look down. If the other is meek and submissive it creates a one-sided friendship; if she happens to be high-spirited or mean-spirited, a quarrel. So that if your friend either is, or considers herself, your superior in everything, or if you will not allow that she is superior to you in anything, look out for the breach that is sure to come. And these breaches are not such as can be healed. The one most in fault is sure to be the one who thinks herself injured, so that the necessary first step is never taken. The friendship may indeed be patched up for awhile, but it is never reliable again, for the simple reason that girls who can quarrel once for such causes are quite certain to do so again. Friends are alienated, too, by a misunderstanding, and the beginnings of these are often so far in the past that it is almost impossible to find them. What very slight things occasion a misunderstanding which in course of time may kill a friendship! A trifling neglect, an explanation given too late, a carelessly worded speech or letter, and, above all, perhaps, conversation incorrectly repeated. Probably the remarks made are not of sufficient importance to deserve that we ask an explanation of them, and in nine cases out of ten we don’t stop to inquire whether it is not likely they have been inaccurately reported—often by mistake—or, even if the words be right, what a difference do look and tone make! “You wretch,” is quite a term of endearment from some people, for example; and “how mean of her to tell you,” does not sound very severe from laughing lips. “Clara said it was very mean of you to say anything to Maria about the way she spoilt that dress of hers,” says the tale-bearer (and tale-bearers do not generally understand a joke, but take all they hear _au grand sérieux_). Harriet is vexed, for she thought Clara considered the spoilt dress quite a laughing matter, and would not betray her friend’s confidence for the world; still, it is not worth while to make a fuss about it, but she can’t forget it, and the next time she and Clara have a “difference” it comes out. “You told Maria that I was mean and didn’t keep your secrets,” says Harriet. “I did not do any such thing,” cries Clara, who has forgotten all about her careless speech, and to whom the spoilt dress had never seemed a secret. “Well, somebody heard you.” “Nobody could have heard what I did not say.” “You must have said it, or it would not have been heard,” etc., etc. And even if the two make it up now there remains a feeling of distrust of each other which is almost sure to ripen into alienation. Misunderstandings may also be occasioned by a letter so heedlessly worded that it makes a misrepresentation.